Twenty Months
by Dee12
Summary: Today was the day Fitzwilliam Marcus Darcy would reclaim his sense of propriety, snap out of this funk, and bring pride back to the Darcy name. And then a pregnant girl decided it would be a very good idea to stop by and ruin his life.
1. Before We Begin

Dear Potential Reader,

Hello; if you are clicking on Twenty Months for the first time you are now getting this special preface before the story begins in all of its insane glory.

Twenty Months is as much a love song to my favorite genre in Pride & Prejudice fanfiction, 'The Forced Marriage', as it is to Austen; my idea was to attempt to make a modern adaptation that played upon the premise of the former, while retaining the spirit of the latter, and staying true to its time period. So, when I say modern, I mean this story contains the following words: shit, ass, bitch, damn, and all of their fucking cognates. If the idea of Elizabeth and her Fitzwilliam swearing gives you pause or if pre-marital sex makes your toes curl, then we should probably part ways here. There are no hard feelings on my end, and I wish you luck in all of your fanfiction pursuits. Just know that I do greatly respect Jane Austen, so much in fact, that I chose to do this instead of committing a Regency atrocity (for I know next to nothing about Georgian England, and can't be arsed to do research).

Should you choose to give this relationship a shot, you should know that this story does not follow the P&P timeline to the letter (with this storyline, there's really no way that it could). Instead, it's chocked full of references to the text (mm-hmm, _chocked_). Those key situations in the book have been altered and will happen out of order, or perhaps not at all. Say goodbye to Jane and Mr. Bingley's separation. Adios, Wickham and Lydia/ Wickham and Georgiana. Auf Wiedersehen Mr. Collins's botched proposal to Elizabeth (he'll find other ways to make himself ridiculous). See, I've read P&P enough times and have spent countless rainy afternoons with the likes of Colin, Matthew, Laurence, and even that dude in the LDS version; I don't need an exact translation and I hope you don't either.

Fanfiction, for me, is a magical universe in which my favorite characters exist on acid. It's pure fun – not serious business in the least.

Thank you for making it through this rambling preface. I hope you truly enjoy what I've done here. A smidgen of thought went into it despite its appearance of having been pulled out of a hat. :)

Love, peace, and hair grease,

Your Author


	2. Millstone

_**Millstone**_

_5 Things I Would Rather Sit Through Than This Board Meeting_

_By Will Darcy_

_# 1. An Ashlee Simpson concert…On second thought, scratch that. A Jessica Simpson concert. Ashlee's far too painful to even comprehend. _

_#2. A twenty-four hour marathon screening of every movie Ben Affleck ever starred in- starting with Daredevil and ending with my suicide. _

_#3. My father's lecture on "the birds and the bees" – the one with those disturbing anatomically correct finger puppets. _

_#4. A reading of War and Peace – by Ben Stein. _

_#5…_

"Darcy, do you have anything you'd like to add?"

He blanched.

It was only for the span of a nanosecond and one would've had to have been gifted with the eyesight of a hundred hawks and maybe a couple of owls to have spotted it, but it had happened. Fitzwilliam Darcy – a man who appeared to be the very embodiment of all that was professional and joyless had nearly been caught slacking off. Letting his boredom and low opinion of meetings get the better of him, he'd spent the last forty minutes compiling list after useless list in his head that included such gems as: _5 tattoos I'm convinced Aunt Catherine has lurking underneath her clothes, and 5 brands of bleach I'm going to have to use to get said image of what's underneath Aunt Catherine's clothes out of my mind_.

He was in the process of finishing up his tenth list of the day when his coworker felt the need to call on him. Grimacing, Darcy grunted something that was supposed to pass as a proper response and the meeting was quickly adjourned much to the gentleman's relief.

If one insanely bored individual suddenly got an insanely boring wild hair up his ass to sit down and chronicle every last event in Darcy's life, the events of the past four months would almost certainly end up in the pile marked "Sucked beyond the telling of it".

It started back in June, back when he was still young and stupid enough to believe he was the sole lord and master of his destiny. His mind was practically all made up. A culinary school was practically all picked out thanks to the handiness of a few scraps of paper and a Dodgers ball cap. And then his father selfishly went and dropped dead at the ripe, old age of sixty-two.

With a media empire left president-less and on the verge of imploding, Darcy naturally did what any other obedient son would've done; he sucked it up and accepted his new found (if completely unwanted) role as the head of the family business. It was his duty, after all. He was just one in a long line of Darcys to share the same fate. His picture would some day hang alongside those important Darcy men in the great hall of his family home – guaranteed to scare every last ounce of individualism out of generations of Darcys to come.

And it might not have been what he wanted (the very _last_ fucking thing he wanted), but as long as he had the support of his great friends and the wonderful woman who was mere weeks away from becoming his wife, Darcy figured there was no way he couldn't get through this alive.

Then he had the misfortune of walking in on said wife-to-be legs akimbo. This wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for his best man being settled between them.

By the time August came around he was one good day away from sitting down to a delicious meal of rat poison for one; and who could blame him?

Here he was stuck in a job he didn't want, blocking calls and emails from an ex-fiance who wasn't worthy of his time, and trying to somehow find a spare moment in his busy day to mourn the loss of the one man who could make it all better with a crooked smile and the words "Trust me son, it can't be all that bad". With his life quickly o.d-ing on 'miserable', Fitzwilliam Marcus Darcy – he of the level head, decided to ignore the desire to deal with his problems in a mature, healthy fashion. Mature and healthy was fucking overrated.

So he drank. _A lot_.

Today was October 15th and his actions over the past two months were a blur of Jack and Cokes and silent prayers he wouldn't wake up with Skeletor in his bed the next morning. But, having the unfortunate privilege of being in a photograph that included Paris Hilton and a bar top sounded alarms for his investors and fellow board members; today was the day he would straighten up his act or risk causing irreparable damage to the Darcy name.

Because if he didn't, his entire legacy could be summed up by one instance where he offered to light Lindsay Lohan's cigarette.

"Sarah, hold all of my calls," Darcy barked at his secretary as he rushed past her desk eager to reach the oak, double doors of his office. Eager to lock himself inside, slip his iPod out of the top drawer of his desk and pretend he was anywhere else in the world.

With a look of total panic, Sarah leapt from her seat in an attempt to catch him. "Mr. Darcy, wait! There's someone…" It was too late. Darcy had already flung those doors open and stepped inside coming face to face with a drowned rat.

Standing in the middle of his personal space, making a puddle on his plush carpet the young woman wrung the bottom of her soaked sweats and had the nerve to shoot him a sardonic smile. "Would you believe it's raining?"

Darcy's mind quickly ran over a list of the names of every monosyllabic monkey down in security he would have the pleasure of firing while his mouth quirked upward. "You don't say," he replied dryly.

"I tried to tell you, sir," Sarah began frantically, "she just walked in like she owned the place and wouldn't leave! I called security…"

Darcy shot Sarah a look over his shoulder. "Obviously they rushed to put down the doughnuts and turn off Passions at the news of a potential threat," he snapped.

"Hey – there's no reason to bite her head off." Drowned Rat now had the audacity to glare at him. At _him_; as if he was the insane-o who was busy racking up a trespassing charge. "Maybe _you_ should hire better help."

Darcy's head cocked to the side as he dared to take a step closer. "Please forgive me, I seem to have lost my manners in all of this; clearly, I forgot to ask, who the hell are you again?" he practically growled.

He dwarfed her which wasn't exactly hard to do when one stands at six feet and two inches tall, but Darcy's broad shoulders, straight as a rod posture, and dark eyes made him the very definition of intimidating yet she didn't back down. This pitiful thing that had to crane her neck to keep from staring him directly in the chest, this dripping slip of a girl who, through a combination of freckles and oversized sweats looked not a day over thirteen, scowled at him as if he were a piece of dirt under her muddy shoes.

If he wasn't twenty shades of pissed off Darcy would've been slightly impressed.

"You're kind of a hard guy to find, you know?" she said absently while pushing strands of wet, red hair out of her eyes. "There are exactly two hundred and fifty two Will Darcys in the LA phone book and I made it to number two hundred and thirty seven before I found this hanging out at the bottom of my hamper." She waved a soggy business card at him. "Fitzwilliam, huh?" a snicker. "Must be a family name."

His hands unconsciously formed fists at his sides as his dark blue eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"

She laughed humorlessly. "No, you really don't, but we've met." Sniffing suddenly, she furiously wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and eyed Sarah warily. "Um, you might wanna close that door; I don't think you wanna risk having an audience."

Darcy let out a derisive snort, but found himself closing the doors on his very stunned secretary. If he was axe-murdered at this very moment it would be thanks in part to the public school system and the "Will they. Won't they" lure of Ethan and Theresa. Fucking wonderful.

"I _really_ hope you're into collecting restraining orders, lady…"

"Lizzie," she told him quickly. "My name's Lizzie and like I said before, we've met." She shrugged nonchalantly as her eyes took the opportunity to focus on her sneakers. "I can't say I'm shocked you don't remember me; it's been a couple months and there was lots of tequila involved. Usually, I wouldn't have even bothered tracking you down; even if you did slip me your card and hey, paying for the cab ride home was a nice gesture, but it was pretty clear our time together was a one-night kind of deal. So, believe me Mr. Darcy when I say, I can think of at least _five_ things I would _much_ rather be doing right now than standing here in your office trying to think of a way to get this out before I'm hauled off by some rent-a-cop."

Darcy's patience had disappeared into thin air.

"Get _what_ out?"

The expression on Lizzie's face was an odd cross between wanting to burst into hysterical laughter and hysterical crying as reached for the purse on his desk and pulled out a ziplock bag filled to the brim with OB test sticks. Removing one, she held it up so he could clearly see the little, blue plus sign. "Twenty-five boxes. I went through twenty-five boxes, and they all say the same thing."

Yes, today was the day Fitzwilliam Marcus Darcy (a family name, of course) would reclaim his sense of propriety, snap out of this ridiculous funk, and bring pride back to the Darcy name,

And then a very pregnant girl decided it would be a good time to stop by his office and ruin his life.

Fuck.


	3. By All Accounts Today was a Disaster

**_By All Accounts, Today was a Disaster_**

When your day ends with your head in a toilet and no one to hold your hair back, it is safe to assume you've just endured the worst twenty-four hours in history.

Such was the case with Lizzie Bennet.

With a groan she lifted her spinning head from the toilet bowl and chose to ignore the bit of vomit in her hair just for the moment, because slumping against the cool bathroom wall was of higher priority.

Today would have gone much better if someone had just punched her in the face before she walked into Will Darcy's office. What the hell was she thinking? Yes, Mister Rich and Powerful business man, you knocked me up after one night together – yes, I am a paradigm of truthfulness. What is this term 'gold-digger' you speak of? Honestly, she couldn't blame that big, fat jerk for being – well, a big, fat jerk. Lizzie knew she was dropping the bomb of all bombs on a guy who was total stranger and it wasn't as if she expected him to believe her.

She did (quite stupidly) however, expect him to be a little nicer about it.

The second the word "whore" found its way out of his mouth, Lizzie administered a well placed slap across his spoiled cheek; locked at the knees she was not, but that fact didn't make her a big ho. The hit had stunned him into complete silence and she was able to finish the rest of this ugly business without further interruption. The date and time of her next doctor's appointment was scrawled across a blank page in the open appointment book on his desk and Lizzie added "It's being taken care of. I just thought you had a right to know" as an afterthought before slamming the door behind her.

Then after waiting nearly an hour for a bus (because $1.25 in your pocket makes cab drivers kill themselves laughing) Lizzie finally arrived to her cramped apartment just off of Santa Monica and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach.

"Lizard, are you in there?" There was a light knock upon the bathroom door and Lizzie instantly felt a thousand times better.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm here."

The door creaked open enough to allow a blonde head and a furrowed brow to peek inside. "Are you okay? Are you…decent?"

That bit made Lizzie giggle – clearly all of the modest genes in the womb had been gobbled up by her big sister. "What's your definition of 'decent'?" she asked jokingly as Jane stepped into the room wearing a worried expression.

"Oh, Lizzie…"

"I vomited," Lizzie stated simply. "In my hair."

"I see," Jane said and took a seat on the edge of the tub.

"Do you think my hair will smell like pizza and orange juice?" Lizzie asked, letting her head slump against the side of the commode. "That's what it tastes like coming up, so…"

"Wanna talk about it?"

Since they were very young Jane had possessed an uncanny ability to be able to spot a problem no matter how much bull shit Lizzie put up to block her. Maybe this amazing skill was just an inherent part of what made Jane, Jane. Or, maybe it was a testament to just how close the sisters are.

Jane Abigail Bennet was born exactly six years, four months, three days and two hours before her sister Elizabeth. She was goodness and light personified – golden blonde hair, soft green eyes, and a smile that was made up of happy things like hugs and puppies. Jane never cried. She always shared her Barbies and made room in the sandbox for everyone. She never swore. She never burped, or picked her nose, or scratched her butt in public. And when things such as puberty and prom dates reared their ugly heads, she unknowingly became the bane of every girl's existence thanks to the added bonus of being unbelievably gorgeous.

Jane was responsible, dependable, and successful at the age of twenty-seven (currently being considered for partner at her law firm). And if she wasn't so goddamn honest to goodness kindhearted, Lizzie would hate her guts.

You see, Elizabeth Michelle Bennet had gotten all of the leftovers. She got the mess of red hair and the dark brown eyes. She was a colicy baby. She once gave a boy a bloody nose for daring to lay a finger on her Ninja Turtle. She could swear in five different languages and burp the alphabet backwards. And though, quite pretty in her own right, she spent her prom night smoking pot underneath the bleachers with a couple of guys from a rival school.

Lizzie could define responsible, dependable, and successful, but actually being those things was another story. She was an actress who was currently finding more work as a waitress than on any screen or stage, and she was living with her perfectly perfect sister.

Again, if Janie wasn't so goddamn honest to goodness…

"What are the chances of you just letting me be if I say no?" Lizzie said with a crooked smile on her face.

"About slim-to-none," Jane replied with a smile of her own. Realization suddenly dawning on her, her green eyes went wide. "You found him?!"

A nod. "I found him."

"And you told him?!"

"I told him."

Jane gasped. "How did it go?"

Lizzie chuckled humorlessly. "Janie – there's vomit in my hair."

Her face fell. "Oh god, Lizzie. I'm so…"

"No, no," Lizzie shook her head with a sniff and wiped at the corners of her mouth, "it could've been a hell of a lot worse. So, I've told him. He's informed. I've done my civic duty and now there's nothing else to worry about."

Silently, Jane climbed to her feet. "Get over here, kid," she said bending down to turn on the tub's faucet.

Lizzie obeyed, crawling across the tiled floor on her knees and then stuck her head underneath the warm water.

"Forget this Darcy guy," Jane said in her best supportive big-sister voice as she squeezed apple shampoo into her hand. "He's an awful jerk. You don't need him."

"I don't, but that kick to my kidneys says someone else here might," Lizzie shouted over the sound of running water.

"You can do this without him, Lizzie. You've got me and you've got Charlotte…"

"Whose bright idea it was to go clubbing that night."

"She feels really bad about that."

"I'll bet."

Somewhere in between the conditioner and the fourth lather, the doorbell rang. Lizzie offered to get the door while Jane was busy rounding up the sort of dvds that go great with a carton of Ben and Jerry's.

Yep, it didn't matter that they were the complete anthisesis of each other. It didn't matter that Jane could fall in shit and come up smelling like roses, or that Lizzie had a bit of 'perpetual fuck up' in her. They got each other. Completely and totally. And wouldn't change a thing.

When she turned the knob, the last thing she expected to see was Will Darcy looking the very picture of uncomfortable on her front porch. But, there he was – hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and a scowl on his face.

He loudly cleared his throat. "Lizzie."

She returned his scowl. "Darcy."

"I…" he began and paused for a second to cock his head to the side. "Can I come in?"

"No," she quickly replied.

"Okay," he sighed heavily, "you have every right to be upset with me, but can we stop being childish for just a minute?"

"_Childish_?!" Her eyes flashed red.

He held up a hand to stop her. "I'm not here to start World War III; I just came to discuss business."

"Business?"

"Yes." Darcy nodded. "I have a proposition for you, Ms. Bennet that I think will serve both of our interests and solve the matter at hand."

Curiously, Lizzie folded her arms over her chest. "And this miracle solution would be…?"

"Marry me."

* * *

_Author's Note: Christ on a cracker what a response! I really wasn't expecting that, so thank you to everyone for your kind words. I'm glad you guys are wanting to see more of this. Stick around, it's gonna be a fun ride._


	4. Should Have Stayed in the Shallows

**_Should Have Stayed in the Shallows_**

Like the birth of Christ, Buddha discovering the eightfold path, and the invention of Dance Dance Revolution – another miracle was about to occur.

Because if it wasn't for that pesky guaranteed prison stay (and the cellmate assignment next to some lonely Big Bertha) for committing murder one, Will Darcy would be a dead man.

Beaten. Shot. Stabbed. Strangled. Drowned.

Darcy had no idea how close he'd come to losing the gift of life; instead of letting out some sort of warrior cry and coming at him with a battle axe, Lizzie stood very quietly and looked very puzzled.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and nervously brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. He half expected to hear a snake rattle. "Ms. Bennet…?"

There was a low chuckle. "You've got some nerve, buddy."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"You act as if you've just offered me the Holy Grail. I'm supposed to what, Mr. Darcy? Fall to the ground and kiss your feet? Thank god for whatever ass backwards neanderthal sense of obligation you seem to possess?" she snickered nastily. "Thanks for trying to make an 'honest' woman outta me, but this isn't 1956 and my 'Pa' doesn't even own a shotgun."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger in an attempt to make the screaming in his head stop. It didn't work, but it hey – it was worth a shot. "While I'm sure, Ms. Bennet, that you're '_every woman'_, my offer has little to do with your honor or my 'ass backwards sense of obligation' as you put it. Like I said before, this is a business arrangement in the strictest sense."

He didn't think it was possible, but her eyes grew even darker and for a moment Darcy worried his head might explode.

With a sigh he said, "Now, I don't close many business deals on front porches so…"

"If I let you in," Lizzie began abruptly, "I reserve the right to kick you out if you as so much utter a syllable I don't like." She paused. "I also reserve the right to break your kneecaps."

"Fair enough."

* * *

It was a position no man wanted to be in – cornered on both sides by two extremely pissed off women. 

The blonde one who'd waltzed into the living room muttering something about whether Colin Firth would go better with mint chocolate chip than Hugh Grant had stopped dead in her lovely tracks at the sight of him. The overwhelming sense of protection and the familial resemblance told him this must be the sister.

_Great_, family. Really, if he didn't feel like a rotten bastard before, having this girl who looked liked the sort that went around buying hobos McDonald's and saving trees glaring at him certainly did the trick.

Then of course there was Lizzie, who'd been glaring at him since two o'clock that afternoon. At this point, Darcy figured he should get used to the glaring from the fiery redhead but there was something about her eyes. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, he just knew he never wanted to see those eyes this angry at him ever again.

Darcy cleared his throat and readied himself to speak, putting a stop to any and all thoughts on Ms. Bennet's eyes. After all, they're what got him into this mess in the first place. "In between the time you slapped me and the trip over here…"

"You slapped him?" Jane interjected suddenly, turning her attention to her sister.

"Hard," Lizzie answered.

"_Outstanding_," Jane said proudly.

Darcy grunted, "I've had a lot of time to think and weigh options, and I've come up with an idea."

"That requires my participation in the sham of all shams," Lizzie grumbled.

"Yes it does," he stated frankly with a nod of his head. "You see, Lizzie, before you stormed into my office and ruined my carpet this afternoon, I had been trapped in a board meeting which I was the subject of. Apparently my behavior lately has been not so great for my family's image and I was asked to straighten up my act."

"Gotta love irony."

"Needless to say, a child from a one night stand isn't going to make my investors do cartwheels of joy," Darcy finished with a sigh.

Lizzie stared at him incredulously. "And you expect me to marry you just to save your ass from a PR nightmare?!"

"Twenty months is all I'm asking for, Lizzie. Long enough to make it look legit. A significant trust fund will be set up for the child, you'll both be taken care of for the rest of your lives."

Lizzie and Jane sat in stunned silence and exchanged the exact same stunned look.

"Give me twenty months of your time, Lizzie, and you'll never have to see me again."

* * *

_Author's Note: This was shorter than I would've liked and well…a lot crappier than I would've liked, but my quarter just started at school and I have work kicking my ass as well and I just wanted to get some newness out there for you guys. _

_(Shrug) Oh well, hope you enjoyed anyway._


	5. I'm Like a Laywer

_**I'm Like a Lawyer With the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off**_

To say Charles Bingley woke up with a start would be a bit of an understatement. The peace and serenity of his swanky hotel suite was interrupted when his cell phone rang very loudly and very unexpectedly at five a.m. Tokyo time.

The fact it was a ringtone of _Sexyback_ that caused him to fall out of bed would be a secret he would take to his grave.

The high and panicky voice of his usually calm and collected best friend on the other end of the line was enough to convince Bingley that his Sakai filled vacation needed to be cut short and within forty five minutes his bags were packed and he was on a red eye back to Los Angeles. Of course his unbelievably good character dictated he leave a note of apology at the hotel's front desk for his sisters and a substantial tip for housekeeping.

By 10:30 a.m. Thursday morning he was back in the States and exiting a cab in front of Pemberley Publishing.

With his bright, red hair standing on end, chin covered in stubble, and bags under his eyes, Bingley wasn't exactly the poster child for super sexy man beasts at this moment, yet when they collided around a corner (important looking papers flying everywhere), Jane Bennet thought she'd never had the privilege of nearly being killed by a more handsome man.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!"

"No, it was completely my fault! You'd think this was my first day walking…"

"No, I should've been paying attention to where I was going…"

It was an apology fest on the twenty-eighth floor of the Pemberley building as two of the nicest people one could ever hope to meet were busy falling all over themselves. Jane worked quickly to help gather Bingley's papers, while Bingley worked just as quickly to snatch them up before she could (after all, she didn't have to help – it was _completely_ his fault).

Smiling sheepishly, Jane shoved the remainder of the documents into his hands. "They really shouldn't let me out in public," she chuckled.

Bingley laughed – a little too loudly and complete with a snort.

Obviously, Jane had never had the privilege of nearly being killed by a more "smooth" man, either.

"You're a total danger to society," he told her while attempting to stuff said papers back into their manila folder. Normally, this task would have taken a grand total of two seconds, but the beautiful woman standing before him with the wisps of golden hair falling over her eyes and the gigantic knot forming on her head was making it impossible to concentrate.

"Oh shit." Bingley's eyes widened. "I'm such a clumsy bastard," he said reaching out to touch it.

Jane gasped in pain. "Could you not do that."

"Oh, god – yeah, sorry." He blushed.

Aspirin and (more) apologies were exchanged before the pair finally went their separate ways.

And as he walked the rest of the way towards the oak double doors of Darcy's office –making sure to be careful of any and all human traffic, Charles Bingley suddenly felt incredibly happy to be home.

* * *

"How was Japan?"

Upon entering Darcy's office, Bingley's good mood was promptly taken out back and shot. Just the general atmosphere in the place was enough to suck the happy right out of Kelly Ripa; it would've made Katie Couric slit her wrists and Rachel Ray step into traffic.

There was Darcy, his best friend in the whole world, beating his head against the window pane. Darcy – who always appeared to be a pillar of strength looking hopeless and dejected, and worst of all lost.

It was enough to shit on a fellow's parade.

"Japan was good. You know, lots of…Japanese people," Bingley said absently as he closed the distance between he and Darcy. "Will, what's going on?"

"I told you over the phone I need a lawyer," Darcy replied without bothering to face him.

Bingley nodded. "Yeah, but you have plenty of lawyers right here in sunny LA available at your fingertips unless you just wanted to be a cock and ruin my vacation." He chuckled in an attempt to bring some sort of levity to the room.

"While I never pass up the opportunity to be a cock, I actually need your help." Darcy's features were deathly serious as he finally turned to face his friend. "What I'm going to ask of you, Charlie, requires – well, I don't think discretion could even come close to being a strong enough word," Darcy sighed heavily. "More than anything, I need a friend."

Bingley gazed at him with concern. "Okay, I'm officially worried."

There was a sardonic smile and a grand sweeping gesture as the sentence "I'm gonna be a dad" rolled off of Darcy's tongue and Bingley wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry or both.

"Congratulations," he offered cautiously and ran a hand through his wild hair. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing anyone?"

"I'm not," Darcy said quickly. "I mean – I wasn't technically seeing her. It was one night and the details are a little fuzzy, but we were together…"

"Oh for fucks sake, Will," Bingley sighed.

"If you're going to judge me, Charlie, save your breath, okay."

Bingley shook his head. "I wasn't going to judge – I just didn't think you capable of something so irresponsible."

Darcy shrugged. "We all have layers," he snickered.

"And you need me to…?" Bingley began as the office doors opened and that beautiful woman with the wisps of blonde hair in her eyes and the gigantic knot on her forehead strolled inside.

"Mr. Darcy has your lawyer arrived yet? I'd like to get started – oh, hello." Jane stopped in her tracks at the sight of Bingley and suddenly her professional demeanor gave way to a bright smile with the hint of a school girl blush.

"Ms. Bennet, this is my lawyer Charles Bingley; Charles this is Ms. Jane Bennet the lawyer for and sister of the woman in question," Darcy rattled off while turning back to face the window.

Bingley smiled just as brightly. "We've met."

* * *

_Twenty-Month Agreement_

_A summation of the terms presented in this contract is as follows:_

_- By signing this document, party (a) (Fitzwilliam Darcy) and party (b) (Elizabeth Bennet) hereby agree to wed and remain so for a period of twenty months._

_-During these twenty months neither party (a) nor party (b) are allowed to stray from their wedding vows. All appearances of being a couple must be kept up in public. Any act committed by party (a) or party (b) that breaks this clause will result in the proper special clause being enforced (see page 32 of this document). _

_-During these twenty months party (a) and party (b) will share a residence (of their choosing). Both parties are entitled to separate bedrooms. Neither party is entitled to consummating the marriage (unless the other party consents). _

_-At the twenty-month mark the marriage will be dissolved citing irreconcilable differences._

_-Party (b) may not profit by disclosing the terms of this agreement to the press. Any and all attempts will result in the denial of this document's existence and a lawsuit for slander. _

_-Upon the birth of the child, a DNA test will be ordered._

_-__**Depending on outcome of DNA analysis**__: _

_college tuition will be set aside for the child (party c) as well as a trust fund that will not be accessible until he/she reaches their twenty-first birthday. _

_-Party (c) will take on party (a)'s last name. _

_-Custody of party (c) will be shared. _

Darcy scrawled his name across the last page on the document and shoved the pen into Lizzie's right hand.

And with slight hesitation and a heavy sigh, she signed her life away.


	6. Roman Candle

_**Roman Candle**_

"I _said_ I didn't want gravy on my mashed potatoes and look at it – it's slathered in gravy! My steamed vegetables aren't steamed enough and you call this steak medium rare?! What the hell kind of service is this, lady!"

Lizzie was having what could only be described as an emo moment. She hadn't sunk as low as to torture her ears with a Hawthorne Heights record and she wasn't gazing at box cutters and lady Bic's with tears in her eyes and awful, pretentious poetry in her tortured heart.

She was, however, having a major pity party.

It was a pity party that took over every aspect of her life; it forced her to subject herself to a matinee of _Fried Green Tomatoes_ and _Brian's Song_ (back to back), it made her fill her iPod to the brim with Elliot Smith and Bright Eyes, and it was the reason why she felt compelled to pick up book six of Harry Potter and skip directly to that bit about Dumbledore (yes, that bit).

When the miserable became too much to bear and the time on the clock grew nearer to the hour when she was expected to do her part as a slave for minimum wage, Lizzie grabbed said iPod and its sad-shit music, and decided to take the scenic route to work.

There was something about long walks that made her world seem a little less bleak – Lizzie loved them. The quickening of her heart with every step. The way the pounding of her sneakers against the pavement found perfect timing with the beat of the music blasting in her ears. She found solace in being just another face in a sea of faces moving through the city streets; it made her aware of herself. And just for those thirty minutes it took for her to reach the TGI Friday's that regretfully employed her, Lizzie's head was clear. She didn't dwell on the baby or stupid Darcy or that stupid contract, or any more of her stupid mistakes. Lizzie's feet found that perfect rhythm to Elliot Smith's _Roman Candle _and she was just another face in a sea of faces.

Unfortunately, all of this new found serenity was crushed by the fiery hell that is customer service.

"Are you even paying attention to me?!"

Lizzie pursed her lips; outwardly she was the epitome of calm and professional, on the inside, however, she was busy coming up with thirty-six ways to kill a man. "Of course I am, sir," she replied politely.

"How in god's name did you get this job," he spat nastily and Lizzie felt her patience snap in half. The swell name tag on her garish shirt required she follow the 'customer's always right' motto and be a smiling puppet head for a restaurant where license plates were considered hip decorations.

"I seem to recall some sort of slack interview process," she told him with a sardonic smile curling on her lips.

Much to the detriment of this gentlemen, Smiling Puppet-Head Lizzie was currently throwing back shots of jagermeister at the bar.

"I'm terribly sorry about your order, sir," she continued her voice dripping with false sincerity. "If you'd like, I can have them unslather your mashed potatoes, steam your vegetables into a puff of smoke, and to make sure your steak is as rare as possible there's a cow and a .38 Special if you'd like me to bring it out…"

It was a tiny victory getting this man who'd sent ten plates of food back to the kitchen (each time claiming his order was wrong) to storm out the door and Lizzie celebrated with a mental dance of joy.

"Give me four very good reasons why I shouldn't fire you right here, right now."

Smiling wearily she turned around to face her manager. "One: you love me very much and wouldn't wish homelessness upon me…"

"Uh-huh."

"Two: that guy was a complete ass and you have to admit, what I said about the cow and the .38 was pretty funny…"

"It wasn't _cost me forty bucks and a customer_, funny."

"Three: we're best friends and roommates, Charlotte. You fire me and you'll never be able to sleep with your door unlocked again," Lizzie grinned from ear to ear.

"You're Satan in human form, aren't you?"

"And four: I'm the only one who knows it's you in that herpes medicine commercial."

Charlotte's eyes widened to comically huge proportions and she let out an audible gasp. "You _wouldn't_."

Lizzie laughed like a villain and made the motion of twisting the ends of a nonexistent mustache ala Snidely Whiplash.

While the thought of living with one's boss might be the driving force behind one swan diving off of the Empire State Building, such was not the case with Lizzie and Charlotte Lucas. The pair met as struggling eighteen year old actresses up for the part of _Infected Girl Number 3_ in a Valtrex commercial (the part and embarrassment ultimately going to Charlotte). The second Lizzie leaned over to let a panicking Charlotte read off of her script, a friendship was born – the type of which might've included handmade bracelets and the letters B.F.F. scrawled across their respective yearbook photos had they still been in high school. Instead, they accompanied one another on auditions which varied between degrees of pretty shitty and completely shitty. With neither one of them kicking Reese Witherspoon's ass on the big screen, the natural next step was to take on a waitressing job like all struggling actors before them.

When Charlotte grew tired of living with her head in the clouds (and with roaches in her apartment), she simultaneously moved in with Lizzie and Jane, and enrolled in TGI Friday's management program.

Lizzie, wasn't so quick to let her dreams die.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and smoothed out her pony-tail. "Don't make me rule with an iron-fist, Bennet." She grinned.

"Get fist-y all you like, Lucas," Lizzie folded her arms over her chest and tried her best to look tough, "you don't scare me." There was a pause and Lizzie scrunched her face. "Um, that didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to…"

Charlotte laughed as she helped Lizzie clear the booth of its dishes. "So, you never told me what went down yesterday. When I walked in the door I heard Hugh Grant's voice booming from your bedroom, so I assumed it couldn't have been good."

Lizzie stiffened at the mere mention of yesterday's horrors and as if on que, the hostess loudly snapped her gum and announced she had a visitor.

Darcy looked like a lamb who'd been led to the slaughter. Yes, his face was devoid of all emotion, but the fear was apparent in his eyes. They darted quickly from one knickknack hanging on the wall to another and Lizzie swore she saw his upper lip quiver when he spotted the snow shoes and heard a customer ask for the jalapeno party poppers.

The man was a snob and a half. "It's just a chain restaurant, dear. You can't become middle-class from touching anything."

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance TGI Friday's had put him in and blurted out, "You work here?!" with just the right amount of 'truly appalled' in his voice to piss Lizzie off.

She blinked. "No. I'm undercover."

Darcy looked down at his shoes.

"Hi, I'm Lizzie's friend Charlotte." Charlotte practically shoved her hand in Darcy's. "It's nice to um…meet you... _again_._"_

"Will Darcy," he muttered.

"Well, I think I'm gonna leave you two alone." Charlotte smiled tightly and took the dishes from Lizzie's hand. "It's time for your break anyway."

"Your sister told me I'd find you here," Darcy said after Charlotte had disappeared around the corner. Lizzie slid into the booth and watched amused as he hesitantly did the same, but not before wiping at the seat with a stray napkin.

"Note to self," she said, "find a way to become an only child."

"My friend, Charles, is having a get-together tonight," he sighed. "His sisters are…well, horrible shrews to be honest, but they're horrible shrews who flew an ungodly amount of hours to get here from Japan and they'd rather party than deal with jet lag like normal people. I'll pick you up at eight."

Lizzie's eyebrows practically shot to the top of her head. "I'm sorry was there a polite request for my presence in there somewhere?"

Darcy frowned. "I _mean_, it would be nice if you came. You've already met Charles, but Caroline and Louisa will never believe our relationship if we're married before they even see your face." A beat. "Besides, your sister already said she was coming…"

Lizzie looked appropriately horrified. "She _what_?!"

* * *

"You can't make me."

Jane peeked around the corner while furiously wrapping the curling iron in her hair. "It's just dinner."

She folded her arms and huffed in a perfect imitation of a put-out five year old. "It's just my _soul_, Jane."

"You're being dramatic," the other Bennet chuckled and disappeared back into the bathroom. "Charlie seems nice…"

Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. "Charlie?" she asked teasingly and could practically hear her sister blushing.

"I mean, Charles – um, Mr. Bingley, seems very nice and I'm sure his sisters are as well," she continued sounding slightly embarrassed.

The words 'horrible shrews' rang through Lizzie's head, but she took a moment to consider the prickly source of that comment. Fitzwilliam Darcy – who's high and mightiness rendered him powerless in casual dining restaurants and probably required he throw rocks at homeless people.

Jane peeked around the corner, this time busily jabbing at her eye with her mascara brush. "You're still not dressed yet!" she shrieked. "It's almost 7:30!"

"What makes you think I'm not dressed?" she asked staring down at her T-shirt and ratty jeans.

Her sister's look of disappointment was so much like their mother's it sent a chill down Lizzie's spine. "Aside from the holes in your jeans…" Jane began.

"Hey, I paid good money for these holes."

"I don't think a shirt with _F-ing Classy_ written across it can be considered appropriate dinner attire." Jane shook her head. "You _really_ need to stop shopping at Spencer Gifts."

Lizzie giggled – the glorious F word was spelled out in full across her chest and yet her twenty seven year old sister felt the need to censor herself. It was a level of cute she previously didn't know existed. "I dunno, I think Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy would be insanely happy to see the mother of his child is just as classy as he loves to believe he is."

"_Lizard_…" the tone of Jane's voice said she definitely meant business and Lizzie threw up her hands in defeat.

"Okay, okay. I'm getting dressed," she sighed heavily. "But first, I'm grabbing a cup of coffee. If I'm going to put up with Darcy and company all night without the luxury of being able to drink alcohol, I'm gonna need a little lovin' from Juan Valdez."

"I really think you should be getting ready!" Jane shouted. "And go easy on the coffee! Too much isn't good for the baby!"

"And I really think you should chill out!" Lizzie called back over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen and its promise of those magical coffee beans. "Not everyone is as annoyingly punctual as you are, Jane. I've got plenty of time."

When the doorbell rang while Lizzie was in the middle of an exhausting search for the coffee filters (she seriously needed a map and a search party to navigate those kitchen cabinets), she didn't think much of it. She figured Charlotte had forgotten her key for the thousandth time or some kid was busy playing ding-dong-ditch.

It never occurred to her that Darcy could be standing behind that door with some perfectly sculpted, waspy looking creature wrapped around his arm, but that's exactly what was waiting on the other side.

Lizzie followed the pair's eye line which happened to end on her chest.

"You're early," was all she could manage to say.


	7. Knock Em Out

_**Knock 'Em Out**_

If asked to describe Caroline Bingley in one word, Lizzie would go with 'sleek'. Everything about the charming Mr. Bingley's elder sister was smooth and polished – pristine.

From her platinum locks which were held back in a severe bun at the base of her neck, right down to the slinky, expensive, little number that was draped around her slinky, expensive looking frame. She was put together from head-to-toe in a way one only sees on the cover of Vogue. Caroline was all ice blue eyes and cheekbones to die for.

She was probably a model.

If asked to describe the dear, Miss Caroline Bingley using four more words – well, Lizzie would have to go with bitch, biatch, puta, and one particularly nasty word that began with the letter 'C'.

From the second she arrived on the Bennet doorstep with her arms wrapped around Lizzie's faux fiancé, Caroline's modus operandi was making Lizzie feel as inadequate as possible.

The _Fucking Classy_ T-shirt was just ammunition in the gun.

Thin lips wrapped themselves around the end of a straw as their owner attempted to look as bored as possible. "I _adored_ that T-shirt you wore earlier," Caroline began with not a trace of friendliness in her voice. "I always knew Darcy had a taste for a certain type of woman, but I never expected to see it spelled out quite so clearly."

Dinner arrangements for the evening had been made at The Ivy – Los Angeles's go-to restaurant for the rich and tragically hip. It was the type of place where Hollywood Starlets get their fill of lettuce and water, and paparazzi get their million dollar pictures. One item on the menu would take Lizzie two weeks worth of paychecks and even then she'd have to stiff the sever on a tip. It was exactly the type of place where the five trust-fund babies sitting at the table would feel most comfortable; and where the two girls from Sun Valley could bask in the less than stellar glow of their middle classness.

Caroline attempted a warm smile after her remark, but it was about as warm as the Arctic Circle.

Charlie shot her a disapproving look. Darcy kept his eyes glued to his plate. Louisa, the other (slightly pudgy) Bingley sister stuffed her mouth full of chicken while her husband commandeered the bottle of wine.

And Jane, sighed. Just a tiny one. Completely unnoticeable to everyone except for Lizzie.

"Jane, how long have you been working for Anders & Stevens? I run in the same circles and never had the pleasure of meeting you before." Charlie tried to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"I'm a big fan of irony," Lizzie began with a smile and Jane looked terrified, "and I see you're a big fan of see-through materials."

Caroline smirked. "It's a one-of-a-kind Stella McCartney," she said with an appreciative look down at the wisp of fabric that covered her tiny frame.

"It's lovely," Lizzie beamed and the look in her eyes was positively sadistic. "But it must be quite tiresome seeing as how any slight chill in the air is indicated by your chest."

Jane's eyes were in danger of escaping her head. Charlie took a sudden interest in his meal. Louisa stuffed her mouth full of chicken while her husband drank from the wine bottle.

And Darcy smiled. A tiny one. Completely unnoticeable to everyone except for Lizzie.

"I've been working there since the spring," Jane spoke to cut the tension. "I really love it. Mr. Anders and Mr. Stevens are wonderful to work for and it's great experience. Though I'm not sure if I want to stay with divorce law. I've been thinking about going into environmental – maybe doing some pro-bono work."

Charlie's eyes lit up. "I've been thinking about going into environmental law also…"

"Always trying to save the world, aren't you, Charles," Caroline snickered.

Off of Bingley's embarrassed look, Lizzie said, "Well, I think you should go for it, Charlie. The ducks and trees could use a guy like you fighting for them."

"Thanks, Lizzie." He smiled.

"And what do you do, Lizzie?" Caroline asked suddenly.

"She's an actress," Darcy said before Lizzie could open her mouth to speak.

It was the first time that evening that Darcy had uttered a single syllable. It was so shocking to hear his voice that Louisa stopped chewing and her husband stopped drinking.

Caroline smiled. "An actress, really, Darcy? I thought you were through with actresses after that whole debacle with Cameron Diaz."

Darcy shrugged. "Lizzie's no Cameron Diaz."

Lizzie pursed her lips. "Thanks, honey," she said flatly.

"I'm curious, how did you the two of you meet?"

Darcy and Lizzie exchanged glances before Lizzie decided to take over and prove Cameron Diaz to be a complete hack,

She grinned. "Through a mutual friend."

_"God! Is this your first day walking, asshole?!" Charlotte looked down at the puddle that once was her Long Island Iced Tea and held back the urge to murder. She'd just spent ten whole bucks on that one drink – someone was gonna die, and it was gonna be bloody. _

_"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."_

_Fortunately for the gentlemen standing behind her, Charlotte was willing to overlook her wasted ten dollars on a pretty face and a penis. _

_"Sorry, I overreacted," she chuckled, batting her eyelashes. "I'm looking into some anger management classes as we speak," she told him as she furiously wiped at the mess with a few stray napkins. _

_"I'll buy you another," he told her curtly. _

_"Char, you wouldn't __**believe**__ that line for the ladies room! Why the hell did I let you drag me here? You know how much I hate clubs; I felt sad and desperate just walking through the door – oh, hello." Lizzie grinned sheepishly at the tall, dark stranger she'd failed to notice standing at their table. _

_Darcy smiled his attentions completely focused on Lizzie. "And, can I get something for your friend?"_

"I find it a little hard to believe that you got Darcy to speak more than two words to you," Caroline snickered. "Our boy's never been much of a conversationalist, _Liz_."

Lizzie winced at the usage of the name. If there was one nickname in the whole friggin history of nicknames she hated it was 'Liz'. "Maybe you've just never said anything interesting, _Caro_."

_"I judge men strictly on the contents of their iTunes play-list," Lizzie said with a grin as she swirled her Tequila Sunrise around with her straw. "Everything I need to know about a guy is laid out in his music choices."_

_Darcy raised an eyebrow at this. "You can't be serious!" He turned to Charlotte. "Please tell me she isn't serious."_

_Charlotte shook her head. "Deathly serious."_

_"You couldn't possibly tell whether or not someone's worthy of your time based solely on their musical taste," Darcy exclaimed taking a pull from his beer. _

_Lizzie casually leaned back in her chair. "And why not?"_

_"Why not?" he repeated. "Because…"_

_"This is a tried and true ability of mine," she said interrupting him. "Strictly Top 40 in the play-list means he's scared to venture out – to try anything outside of what's considered normal. Radiohead, The Strokes, Oasis, or Muse says he's a pretentious fucker concerned with image…"_

_"I like Radiohead and Muse," Darcy said absently. _

_"Light rock says he's boring," she continued, "any rap where the lyrics feature the words 'big', 'booty', and 'bitches' means he's misogynist."_

_Darcy laughed and leaned closer to her, his eyes sparkling. "And what if I told you I was a closet metal-head. What would that make me?"_

_Lizzie brought a finger to her lips and tilted her head as if deep in thought before answering. "Trouble," she said with a snort, "and also a big, fat liar."_

_He gasped as if taken aback. "You just met me and already you think I'm a big, fat liar?"_

_"I'm sorry," she began and took a sip from her drink, "but that outfit and the Omega watch on your wrist do not a metal-head make."_

_Charlotte giggled. "Lizzie's got a point."_

_"I know I do," Lizzie chimed in with a know-it-all smirk._

_"The last concert I went to was Slayer," Darcy told them and was treated to some rather loud scoffing from both women. "I can prove it! They're my all-time favorite band, I carry the ticket stub around in my wallet."_

_Lizzie and Charlotte went wide-eyed as he indeed produced a Slayer concert ticket stub from the depths of his wallet. Darcy laughed and shrugged at their reaction. "It started as a way to piss off my parents and then I actually fell in love with the music."_

_Lizzie blinked. "Sorry, I'm still having trouble picturing you in a mosh pit."_

_He grinned. "I had seats. Look at this outfit and this Omega watch; do you really think I would get in a mosh pit?"_

_"Okay, okay." she nodded. "You've proved me wrong, Mister…?"_

_"Darcy. Will Darcy."_

_"Mr. Darcy." She smiled. "I'm sorry I assumed you were too snooty for the likes of metal."_

_Darcy's gaze fell directly on Lizzie's pouty lips. "Can I persuade you to take a look at my play-list? For further examination of my character, of course."_

It was Caroline's bright idea to go dancing.

She knew of some perfect, little hole in the wall club (where they didn't let just _anybody_ in) that would be the best place to blow off her jetlag.

Naturally, Darcy objected. He _hated_ dancing with a passion due to the fact he suffered from the white man's rythmless curse; it would take an act of god (or an act of alcohol) to get him out on the dance floor.

But, the second the words "It's been so long since I've been dancing" escaped past Jane's lips, and Charlie (who was beginning to not be able to function without being at least in a 600 mile radius of Jane Bennet) agreed, and Lizzie spotted the twitch of his eye at the mere mention of 'dance remixes', Darcy knew he was royally screwed.

Lizzie beamed at him – putting on quite the show for the others, but he saw the evil in her eyes and the wheels turning in her head.

It made his blood run cold.

"Oh, we should totally go," Lizzie exclaimed, slipping an arm around his waist. "It'll be fun, won't it, Darcy?"

Darcy gave her a look. "Your definition of fun does not resemble our earth definition of fun."

Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. "Whereas you bring the party everywhere you go," her dry wit earning an appreciative goofy laugh from Charlie. Smiling, she shook her head. "But, maybe some other time, Caroline. I think I'm more in the mood to curl up on the couch and make Willie watch something with Julia Roberts in it."

Darcy wrapped his arms around Lizzie and rested his forehead against her own. "As long as it isn't Runaway Bride, I'm all yours." His voice was dangerously low and the way Lizzie captured her bottom lip between her front teeth was having strange affects on him.

Her eyes sparkled and there was a wonderful, floppy feeling in Darcy's stomach that had no business being there.

"I don't get to dance, _you_ get Richard Gere," Lizzie said playfully tapping him on the end of his nose.

Caroline paled at the display.

* * *

"What?" Darcy asked, his voice clipped.

He could feel Lizzie's eyes on him as they made their way out of the restaurant. He was hoping any and all crippling silence from his direction would indicate he wasn't in the mood for conversation, and yet there she was practically boring holes in the back of his head. Drilling right down to his brain. Willing him with her Jedi mind-tricks to speak.

"You don't dance?" she scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since forever," he said plainly as he stuck his arm out to hail a cab. "I can't stand it."

Another scoff. "Could've fooled me."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Darcy tilted his head.

"Me. You. An iTunes playlist," Lizzie said considerably slow as if she were speaking to an idiot child. "There was dancing, Darcy – in your living room. And, dare I say, you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

_Lizzie giggled as Darcy twirled her around narrowly avoiding the sofa. _

_With his laptop up and the volume cranked, the two were goofing around to the sound of the Pixies. _

_She cocked a brow. "You honestly have the Pixies and Slayer on the same play-list?"_

_He smirked and pulled her closer. "I'm a complicated guy."_

"Stupid me for thinking you actually had the capacity to remember something about our night together," Lizzie sighed. "But, hey, I understand. I'd have trouble keeping track too if my bedroom had a revolving door."

Darcy turned at that and opened his mouth to speak, only to sigh and say nothing.

_There was a moment – somewhere in between all of his obvious flirting and her attempts to suss him out, that Darcy ended up pinned against his hallway wall with Lizzie's teeth nibbling at his bottom lip and her legs wrapped around his waist. _

_He couldn't for the life of him remember how it started or who started it for that matter, and to be honest he didn't particularly give a good goddamn. _

_Will Darcy had his lips on the neck of this beautiful woman with the most perfect pair of eyes he'd ever seen and all that mattered was making it to that bedroom without tripping._

"You're right, I don't remember anything," he lied. "Stupid you."


	8. Jesus Christ was an Only Child

_Author's Note: Short and sweet, but I should have another update Sunday night/Monday morning for you guys to chew on. Cross your fingers. _

_**Jesus Christ was an Only Child**_

"At the request of the female population of Exeter Academy, I'm to ask you the following questions."

"Shoot."

"Did you really date Paris Hilton and does she come across as a vile, walking STD in person the same way she does on television?"

A chuckle. "The _highly_ educated and Harvard groomed students of Exeter phrased that question in such a way?"

"I may have jazzed it up a bit."

"Oh, I see." He paused, "No, I didn't and yes – yes she does."

"It pains me to ask you this one," a sigh and a grumble, "why are you so sexy?"

"Genetics, and quite possibly, witchcraft."

"Last question: did you have any idea how disappointing it would be for your loving, little sister to find out about your new girlfriend from Ryan Seacrest? I mean, really Will. _Seacrest." _

Darcy smiled sheepishly and shifted the phone to his other ear. "In all fairness, I intended to tell you sooner, and since when do you watch E! News?"

"Since, I got a gossip whore for a roommate."

"Georgie!" he pretended to be shocked at her language and he could actually hear her smirking over the phone.

"What? Gossip's not a dirty word," was her sardonic reply. "And since when do _you_ eat at the Ivy? You hate that place. I seem to remember you saying something to the affect of 'only pathetically desperate attention seekers go there'," she tried her best to be overly haughty.

"Caroline suggested it."

"Oh," she said. "Makes sense now."

That got a laugh.

"So, mister, give me the scoop about this new woman of your's. She seemed rather dishy on TV but then again the paparazzi only photographed you two from the side. What's her name? Where did you meet? Is it serious? Is she opposed to highly curious and overprotective sisters?" Georgiana lowered her voice an octave and said without an ounce of seriousness, "Has she ever killed a man?"

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy were a strange pair indeed; somehow they had managed to overcome the seven year age gap and the gender difference and got on quite nicely. From the moment she was born, Will was smitten with his baby sister. He remembered meeting her for the first time, very clearly; the doctors had allowed him and his grandparents to enter the delivery room and his mom gently coaxed him into holding the wriggling, pink thing they had dubbed 'Georgiana'.

Will took one look at her scrunched up face and bright eyes and knew right then and there he would protect her with his life.

Georgiana took one look at him and spat up.

From that day on the pair were closer than close despite being polar opposites of one another: Georgie was fearless and quirky – she would take a flying leap off of any high object at any given moment, and went through a stage where her bathing suit was the _only_ article of clothing she would consent to wearing. She was outgoing with the added bonus of not giving a rat's ass what other people thought, carried an insane love of school (and black jellybeans), and was thoroughly convinced she would end up a mad scientist or a concert pianist or very possibly both.

Will was always just a bit guarded and just a bit quiet. Too shy to reveal himself around people he didn't know, he always envied Georgie for managing to get the Darcy wit and bypass the crippling Darcy social anxiety in the gene pool. He had a knack for making awful first impressions, found school to be an utter waste of his precious time, and until very recently was known for having his head screwed on perfectly straight. He'd wanted more than anything to be a chef and couldn't help seeing the Darcy Empire as a prison he'd never escape.

Darcy sunk low in his seat at the barrage of questions concerning Elizabeth. He had dreaded this very moment the second he scribbled his name on that contract; the moment he would have to lie to his sister. The one person in the world he _never_ lied to.

"Her name's Elizabeth – er – Lizzie. We met through a friend over drinks. I'm bringing her to your recital so I think that answers the 'are we serious' question. She has an overprotective and highly curious sister of her own therefore I don't think she'll mind your particular brand of nosiness." He managed to get all of that out without letting the feeling he was a complete bastard compromise his words. "Honestly, Georgie, I think you'll like her."

"As long as she helps you get over Eva the Terrible, I don't care," Georgie told him matter-of-factly. "I'll even build a temple in which to worship her likeness."

He snorted. "Shouldn't you be off learning things? I know we don't pour all of that money into Exeter for nothing."

"Is this your way of hanging up with me? " She sighed, "Fine, fine. I'll go watch One Tree Hill and blow off my Calculus homework just like a normal seventeen year-old instead of talking to the brother I _adore_ and _never_, see…"

"Don't be so dramatic," he told her playfully. "I'm gonna go pay a visit to mom and dad, so I'll call you later."

"Say 'hi' for me."

There was a time during the weeks and eventual months after his father's passing that Darcy made a habit of chatting with his parents; he enjoyed the quiet of the cemetery and frankly it was cheaper than spilling his insides to a therapist. He'd kept them up-to-date on everything ("_I swear Georgie's got a boyfriend and she's not telling me_", "_I don't know if I can pull off this merger with Google and I don't want to let you down_") and then his breakup with the aforementioned 'Eva the Terrible' happened. The visits stopped, and suddenly he preferred drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whatever was handy.

Sneakers crunched loudly over fallen leaves as he made his way down the winding path toward the secluded spot marked by a large oak tree.

Darcy sat down in between the two headstones, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Before I forget, Georgie says 'hello' and she's _still_ being cryptic about the boyfriend situation. I'm looking into some academies on the west coast and maybe some sort of tracking implant; this growing up thing she's doing scares the Jesus out of me."

He sighed heavily. "She's doing great, though. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about me. I've really messed up this time…"

"Fitzwilliam? I thought I'd find you here."

At the sound of the voice, Darcy gritted his teeth and coolly glanced over his shoulder,

"Eva."

* * *

"_You_ work here?!" 

Lizzie sighed dejectedly. She was currently on hour two of an eight hour shift, her feet hurt, the bits of toast and sausage she managed to down for breakfast were currently doing cartwheels in her stomach and this was easily the twentieth customer of hers to have a copy of that goddamn US Weekly:

_A New Love for L.A.'s Most Eligible Bachelor?_

The cover image of a smiling Darcy with his arms wrapped around her waist had stitched itself to her brain. It had only been a little over a week since she had suffered through that dinner at the Ivy and yet she couldn't, for the life of her, remember seeing one paparazzo. But, the bastards had been lurking about – pages 34 of US and 19 of People had the spreads to prove it.

She smiled wanly. "Yes, I work here. Now, would you like to start off with an appetizer?"

"Spinach dip." A beat, "And you're dating that Fitzwilliam Darcy guy – the one who owns Darcy Broadcasting and all that?"

"Yes." Lizzie nodded. "Anything else I can get you this afternoon?"

"No, just the, spinach dip oh and no sour cream on that. You know, if I were you, I'd quit and take up a career in gold-digging."

"Why-oh-why don't I own a gun to bring into work?" Lizzie sarcastically lamented as she barged through the kitchen's double doors. "I could use a good killing spree right about now."

Charlotte laughed uncomfortably and gestured toward the young man at her side. "Lizzie, this Daniel our new trainee; Daniel, this is Lizzie, she'll be the one to show you the ropes."

He flashed Lizzie a devilishly handsome smile and extended his hand. "Daniel Wickham. Should I be afraid?" he asked teasingly.

"Lizzie Bennet," she grinned sheepishly as she shook his hand, "and no, once I've had my crazy pills I'm no longer a danger to society."

"Good to know," he chuckled.


	9. Fitzwilliam, it was Really Nothing

_Author's Note: I broke this chapter up into two parts, because well, it was just too damn long. So, don't be confused by the opening scene – it'll all be explained in the next update. _

_Enjoy_

* * *

_**Fitzwilliam, It was Really Nothing**_

**Part One**

She brought a hand to her lips and tried her very best not to cry.

This unfortunate event was just another prime example of her impeccably shit luck when it came to the opposite sex. Since about the age of fourteen, Lizzie had unwittingly amassed an impressive list of loser boyfriends, perverts, and emotional fuckwits; piles of stunted growth who had managed by the grace of god to dodge the clutches of natural selection (see:** Archie the Thief, Danny the Meth Lab Technician, and Nate the Drummer**).

Unfortunately, her list of 'good ones' that got away' was equally as long (depressingly so) and growing longer by the second.

If only she had spent that night at home instead of agreeing to go clubbing with Charlotte…

If only she hadn't had that fifth tequila sunrise on a virtually empty stomach…

If only she hadn't met Will Darcy and made an even bigger mess of her life…

Lizzie let out a tiny sigh and continued to finger her lips as he gazed at her with a devilishly handsome smile on his face. "What are you thinking about, Lizzie?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, and leaned in close to her once again,

If only Daniel Wickham hadn't been such an excellent kisser.

**One Month Previous**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that customer service workers lose any drop of humanity they might have possessed within the first six months of their employment. This is due to the fact that the general public is almost entirely comprised of wankers and waiting on them hand-and-foot is enough to bring anyone's inner demon to the surface.

However, due to the need for a paycheck, these lowly workers are forced to direct their need to torture mankind at each other:

"Jesus, don't tell me you need me to repeat this; it's _incredibly_ simple."

There was a flash of terror across his features, but only briefly, and Daniel glanced over his shoulder at the sound of snickers from the large group of his coworkers that had gathered in the kitchen doorway to watch the carnage unfold.

One of the hostesses, Navi, was busy handing out snacks to the crowd, while, Calvin – another server, loudly exclaimed he had twenty bucks riding on 'the Newbie falling flat on his ass with this one', and Charlotte tried her best to look supportive and crossed herself.

Clearly, he was in over his head.

There was a huff, "I don't think you're even paying attention to me."

Another glance at the crowd, this time his eyes fell on Lizzie – his designated sensei. She caught his look and gave a mock (but encouraging) bow.

Daniel took a deep breath and flashed the customer a perfect set of teeth. "You wanted the Southwestern combination: a second burrito in place of the fajita. Ranchero sauce on the side, easy refried bean, no rice. The nachos you wanted no tomatoes, green onions, sour cream, or beans – just meat and _white_ cheese, sauce and guacamole on the side. You also wanted the loaded baked potato, but without sour cream, bacon, chives, butter, salt and pepper, and the house salad with the vinaigrette on the side." He paused. "Did I miss anything?"

Her squinty eyes narrowing, the woman adjusted her glasses and casually took a sip of her water (with just a _hint_ of lime) before saying, "No, I believe that's everything."

A mixture of cheers and groans erupted from the kitchen area as Daniel returned triumphantly with the order in hand.

"This'll teach you to doubt the power of my tutelage," Lizzie said extending a hand in Calvin's direction.

Calvin let out a snort and slammed a crumpled twenty into her waiting mitts. "Whatever, the Nazi was _obviously_ not herself today." He shook his head, dark hair falling over his eyes. "And you're gonna take my last twenty bucks? Way to be cruel, Lizzie."

Grinning, Lizzie wasted no time pocketing the cash. "This'll _also_ teach you about the consequences of gambling."

"Don't I get a share in that," Daniel interjected, "after all, it was me who was tossed to the wolves back there."

Lizzie 'tsked'. "Sorry, but all the dole from the Noob training goes straight into the sensei's pocket. This is a hard and fast TGI Friday's rule."

"Is that right?" he laughed as he scooped up a drink tray. "And you can't make any exceptions?"

Lizzie could feel a blush creeping up in her cheeks; good lord was that man ever gorgeous! Daniel was tall (though not quite the skyscraper height of Darcy) and, his clingy Friday's uniform hinted at an unbelievably muscular figure underneath. He had perfectly coiffed blonde hair and light green eyes that sparkled when he smiled. The added bonus of being good humored and charming made Daniel Wickham All-American, teen dream puppy love personified; and Lizzie was finding herself to be not immune to the need to appreciate his _fine_ qualities.

Wickham flashed a smile that woke up every vagina within a fifty mile radius,

"Maybe you could cut this Noob a little slack," he said absently arranging glasses on his tray, "just, you know, for the sake of a job well done."

And Lizzie's eyelashes batted completely of their own volition,

"What makes _you_ so special, Mr. Wickham?" she asked teasingly.

"Nothing," Calvin snorted on his way out of the kitchen.

"Build a bridge and get over it, Calvin," Lizzie shot back at his retreating form.

Daniel chuckled, "Hey, I survived the Nazi on the first go round that's gotta earn me at _least_ a cup of coffee with my wonderful sensei."

"Someone obviously doesn't subscribe to US Weekly," Navi remarked off-handedly as she breezed past the pair and Daniel raised a brow.

Embarrassed, Lizzie covered her face with her hands. "Thanks ever-so, Navi," she told the teen sarcastically.

Navi shrugged and loudly popped her chewing gum. "You managed to snag Fitzwilliam Darcy and still come to work at this shithole every day? You were dropped on your head as a baby, weren't you?"

The very second the Darcy name was uttered, Daniel's eyes widened considerably. "Fitzwilliam Darcy: the Darcy Broadcasting heir?" he asked, head curiously cocking to the side.

Lizzie smiled grimly. "I just call him 'Sweetie-Pie'."

He stared at her in silence before finally giving a curt, "Good luck with that," and suddenly became engrossed in making sure his drink tray was perfectly arranged.

"Wow, did it just get chilly in here," she chuckled humorlessly. "Guess you're not a big fan of ridiculously wealthy types."

"Oh, I've got no problem with ridiculous wealth – the more ridiculous, the better, I always say." He nodded. "It's…"

"Sweetie-Pie?" Lizzie offered flatly.

That got a shrug. "Hey, I'm not one to go around bashing other people's boyfriends, so if you're happy with Will, I wish you the best of luck." Daniel smiled thinly and headed for the double doors with Lizzie fast on his heels.

"Wait a minute, Danny!" she called after him. "Do you know Darcy?"

Wickham stopped in his tracks and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a thoroughly amused Calvin.

"Hey, Lizzie, you've got a group that requested to sit in your section." Smirking, Calvin gestured towards the booth where Charles Bingley and his shrew sisters stuck out like sore, diamond encrusted, thumbs. "Man, do I _love_ karma."

* * *

"Have a hap-hap-happy birthday…!" 

"…yes, a hap-hap-happy birthday…!"

"Have a hap-hap-happy birthday from the TGI Friday's Crew!"

Caroline Bingley smiled from ear to ear. Her lips curled behind her pearly, white teeth and her eyes gleamed.

She was immensely happy, so happy, in fact she almost wished it actually _were_ her birthday (which was not for another six months and thirty was absolutely _nothing_ to celebrate, thank you). For this would most certainly have been the greatest gift she had ever received; it toppled the hot, pink Barbie Power Wheels she was gifted with at age six, and sent the pony her father got her at ten straight to the glue factory.

Caroline took a moment to glance up at Lizzie Bennett and let the sheer ridiculousness of the girl's garish red-and-white striped uniform (oh, suspenders and buttons!) sink into her subconscious.

The memory was guaranteed to keep Caroline warm at night.

"Encore! Encore!" Caroline clapped wildly.

Charlie put a hand to his head probably in hopes he would disappear. "That's enough," he told her sternly.

Their sister, Louisa, who normally had no trouble inhaling her dinner, disinterestedly pushed her loaded baked potato around her plate with her fork while her husband looked over the drink menu.

A pseudo-friendly smile unfolding across her face, Caroline took a sip of her Diet Coke. "What a quaint, little restaurant you work at, Elizabeth." Turning to Louisa, she added, "I can't believe we never thought of coming here until today. It's so…festive."

With a brief (but apologetic) look in Lizzie's direction, Charlie shifted and pulled a folder from underneath his seat. "I'm really sorry about this, Lizzie. I intended to come here alone to give you this, but Caroline and Louisa insisted they were interested in trying out the food. I had _no_ idea…"

Lizzie raised a hand to silence him. "It's cool, Charlie," she told him reassuringly as she took the folder out of his hands. "My, my, this is very Russian spy of you."

He laughed. "It's just, um, some um, environmental cases I thought your, um, sister would be interested in."

Lizzie nodded and smiled genuinely; from the rather large number of 'ums' Charlie managed to squeeze into that one sentence, she suspected the folder's contents might be of more interest to _her_ than to Jane. "I'll make sure she gets it."

"Liz," Caroline said her name in the most annoyingly haughty tone, "be a doll and refill my drink."

"Of course," Lizzie replied just as patronizingly, reaching over to grab the glass. "Oh, where are my manners, I almost forgot to personally wish you a happy birthday, Caro…"

The blonde leered. "Thanks."

Turning sharply on her heels, Lizzie added over her shoulder, "You _truly_ don't look a day over forty" and relished the look on Caroline's face.

That look would keep Lizzie warm at night.

* * *

When Jane's hands made it to Jane's hips, she knew she was in big trouble. Admittedly, the wrath of Jane was about as frightening as a gang of kittens who farted rainbows and shot sunbeams and snikerdoodles out of their eyes, but with a mere tilt of her head (and _those_ hands on _those_ hips) Jane could make Lizzie feel as if she were a four year old who'd just been caught taking the heads off of her big sister's Barbie's. 

"Don't you think you should take this a _little_ seriously," Jane huffed and her sister threw up her hands in defeat.

"I'm taking it seriously. I'm serious, Janie." Lizzie nodded sternly – a sign that she was ready to get back to being an adult. Unfortunately she made mistake of glancing down at the contents of Charlie's folder lying on the coffee table before her and the corners of her lips twisted up in amusement.

Lizzie snorted and Jane swore.

"Jesus Christ…"

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "But, Janie you're insane if you don't see the ridiculousness in all of this."

"There are elements of the ridiculous, but…"

Lizzie shot her a look. "_Elements_?! Darcy wants me to go with him to New Hampshire to meet his sister and he doesn't have the decency to come by or hell, even call and say 'Lizzie, you should really meet my highly accomplished, prep-school going, Smarty McBigbrain sister before you and I rape the sanctity of marriage with our sham'. Instead, he sends poor Charlie by with a plane ticket and the Will Darcy press kit!"

Jane blinked. "Remember to breathe, Lizzie."

"I mean, for fuck's sake, Jane, you'd think the guy would actually _want_ me to get to know him the good old fashioned way!" Shaking her head she snatched up the papers. "'Darcy likes birthday cake-flavored ice cream, cooking, heavy metal, and takes his coffee black with five sugars.' If we're pretending to be a couple shouldn't we spend some amount of time together and actually learn these things through – oh, I dunno, _interaction_!"

"This is his sister you're meeting," Jane calmly reminded her. "The only family Darcy has according to Charlie and they're closer than close. She's already under the impression that this is a serious relationship, so if you can't tell her how he takes his coffee in the morning, she's gonna know something's up."

Tossing the papers back onto the coffee table, Lizzie sunk into the cushions of the couch with a heavy sigh. "This is a bad idea. This _whole_ deal reeks of badness. I don't need Fitzwilliam Darcy or his contract. I can raise this baby on my own."

Jane plopped down beside her and rested her head on Lizzie's shoulder. "You may not need him, but you signed your name on the dotted line."

"Dammit."


	10. Fitzwilliam, it was Really Nothing Pt2

_**Fitzwilliam, It Was Really Nothing**_

**Part Two**

"Fitzwilliam, what are you thinking about?"

As insane as it were, for a moment, Darcy was compelled to answer that question with complete and total honesty. That's not to say he usually specialized in being dishonest; he'd merely had enough experiences with women in his lifetime to know that when asked that particular question, absolute truth did not have his best interest at heart.

In fact, absolute truth was only interested in getting him castrated.

And yet, he wanted to tell her anyway. Wanted to tell her instead of sweet and dirty nothings to whisper in her ear, his brain was frantically thinking of exit strategies:

**Sneak phone to bathroom. Text Charlie to call. Make up excuse on way to door.**

**Wait till she falls asleep. Use fire escape as getaway.**

**Hit her over head with alarm clock. Use fire escape as getaway. **

He wanted to tell her instead of dinner plans his brain was frantically thinking of ways to explain what a cad he had been. That, he knew this was wrong, but he had done it out of fear (after all she knew when afraid he was apt to do something incredibly fucking stupid), and honestly he'd had no intentions to hurt her despite their past.

He wanted to tell her all about Lizzie – _everything_ about Lizzie, and he should have done so that day at the cemetery, but it had felt so good to see her; unfortunately blocking her calls and emails because he was angry hadn't turned off his feelings. The whole scene would be infinitely easier if he could find a way to be cold and indifferent.

Eva shifted under the covers and wrapped a slender leg around his thigh, snuggling closer.

Darcy sighed and fought his crisis of conscience. "Nothing; I'm not thinking about a single thing."

* * *

**One Month Previous**

Dramamine: _Check_.

Scopolamine patch(es): _Check_.

Gravol: _Check_.

Crackers: _Check_.

He checked and rechecked his carry-on – _obsessively_; making sure everything he needed was there and everything was in its place. Not three minutes would go by before he was feverishly unzipping the black bag, hands diving back inside.

Lizzie looked on from behind the big lenses of her trendy sunglasses casually sipping her milkshake and used her free hand to pop out one of her iPod earbuds.

"Forget something?" she asked sardonically.

"No," was Darcy's gruff reply as he zipped the bag up once again and sat back against the hard plastic of the terminal seat.

Lizzie rolled her brown eyes heavenward counting under her breath, "3…2…1…," and like clockwork, Darcy's hands were scrambling for the carryon.

He was like the Old Faithful of OCD.

"Okay…" she snatched the bag away from him, "you're driving me crazy."

"Uh, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped.

"What is _so_ essential that you insist on checking every five seconds to see if it's still there?"

Darcy frowned. "I'm not…it's not…it's really none of your business." He made a grab for his luggage, but she easily maneuvered it out of reach.

Lizzie pursed her lips. "Did you switch bags with David Copperfield? Is there some wily luggage gnome out there who steals the contents of carryons? Trust me, Darcy, your…" Undoing the zipper, she peered inside and quickly gazed up at him in askance, "_pharmacy_ won't disappear."

Visibly irritated, Darcy snatched his bag out of her mitts and set it beside his chair. "I have plane phobia," he grumbled. "It's one of the many banes of my existence and I'm going to kindly ask you to drop the subject completely though I know this is like asking Tom Cruise to stop being insane."

Lizzie giggled and actually smiled at him with warmth. "I swear I won't tease you."

Darcy shook his head. "I swear I asked you to drop the subject," he told her shortly.

She managed to ignore his attitude. "I'm pretty sure you've got enough to kill ten horses in that bag and it's not gonna help you." With a grin, Lizzie removed her sunglasses and perched them on top of her head. "The trick is to pick a focal point and spend all your time concentrating on it. If one thing is occupying your mind then your brain doesn't have time to come up with all of those nasty thoughts about being 35,000 feet in the air."

His complexion greened at the mere mention of 35,000 feet and he swallowed the rush of saliva that filled his mouth.

"Personally, I like to focus on Morrissey," Lizzie continued.

"Lizzie, can we not…" a pause and a puzzled tilt of his head, "Morrissey?"

She shrugged. "He's got a kind face – pleasant to think about. Plus, _Hatful of Hollow_ is one of the greatest albums in existence." Off of Darcy's look she added, "I'm not saying _you_ have to think about Morrissey."

"Thank you, Dr. Bennet," he scoffed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Darcy's heart beat a mile a minute as he and Lizzie made their way toward the comfortable leather of their assigned first class seats. He had always harbored a particularly deep-seeded hatred for airplanes; while admiring man's ability to overcome his own wingless existence by developing a faster, efficient method of air travel that included peanuts and a movie (the likes of which a mangy bird never dreamt of), flying made him absolutely sick to his stomach and therefore man and all of his progress could go fuck himself.

Lizzie slid into the window seat and immediately removed a book from her purse. He envied her calmness, for at the moment his mind was locked in a fierce battle of wits with his stomach; he sat down and his stomach did violent summersaults – practically slamming against the rest of his poor insides.

Lizzie didn't bother to look in his direction. "Stop thinking about it, Darcy, and focus on something else for Christ sake."

Darcy's head snapped in her direction, a dirty look etched on his features, an insult locked and loaded on his tongue and he suddenly, he stopped,

Lizzie's nose was buried in the pages of Love in the Time of Cholera, a lock of wavy, auburn hair had escaped the chokehold of her ponytail holder and curled slightly around her ear, and the sunlight hit her creamy skin at a faultless angle revealing the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

In that instant, Fitzwilliam Darcy found Elizabeth Bennet to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He was virtually mesmerized when she slowly tucked that errant strand of hair behind her ear, and when she smiled to herself (obviously amused by something she'd read), he smiled, too. Lizzie casually tilted her head and Darcy desperately fought the urge to run his finger along the expanse of her neck while trying to remember what it felt like to have done so on that fateful night.

By the time she uttered, "Feeling any better?" the plane was in the middle of taxiing down the runway and rapidly gaining speed.

Snapping out of his reverie, Darcy quickly directed his attentions to the back of the seat in front of him and prayed he wasn't blushing. "I don't feel the need to curl up in the fetal position and wish for my death, so I suppose your technique does work after all."

"I told you Morrissey has an oddly soothing face."

He chuckled. "He does indeed. Thank you, Lizzie."

Lizzie shrugged and shot him a grin. "Fitzwilliam, it was really nothing."

* * *

"I don't think this is a good idea…"

That got a stern, "Why not?"

"I'm meeting the guy for the first time – first impressions are _everything_. What the hell is he gonna think when he sees me with this?"

"He's gonna think you have a fine appreciation for comedy."

A scoff, "I strongly doubt that."

"Okay, he's gonna think you're incredibly whipped." A beat, "Which, you are; so, it's all good as the kids like to say."

"You only like to _believe_ I'm whipped, and which kids would these be?"

"You only like to believe that you _aren't _and these would be the really lily white and tragically un-hip kids, now shut up and watch the gate."

When he stepped off of the plane (never so happy in his life to see the ground of Portsmouth, New Hampshire), the very first thing Darcy's eyes set upon was a crudely marker-d sign.

In rather large, rather pink, bubble letters the name:

**FITZIE **

shone like a beacon; a beacon of impossibly stupid and much hated childhood nicknames.

Next to that sign was another, equally as bubble-lettered:

**FITZIE'S LADY FRIEND**

Darcy figured there would always be time to ring her scrawny neck later, for now he was simply happy to see his baby sister standing in front of him. Georgiana squealed when she spotted him and waved her sign. Darcy couldn't help himself and dropping his bag, he swept her up into his arms, spinning her around, much to Georgie's embarrassment.

"Holy crap, Will, you're completely killing my cool!" Georgie told him laughing. "Put me down!"

Smiling, Darcy said, "You deserve it, you little bastard." Gesturing toward the sign in her hand he added, "Fitzie? Do you _really_ wanna start advertising embarrassing nicknames, Georgie, cause you have a few I'd be happy to share."

She grinned. "I don't think you've got the brass to go there, Fitzie."

Darcy cocked an eyebrow. "Is _that_ right, Poops McGe…" Georgie cut him off with a shriek and covered his mouth.

"Not in front of my friend, you loser!" she laughed, thoroughly embarrassed and motioned toward the gangly, shaggy-haired boy standing to her right.

In an instant, the protective big-brother mask slipped into place and Darcy gave the kid a decidedly cold once-over with his eyes. He didn't much care for the idea of his little sister hanging out with teenage members of the opposite sex – especially lip-ringed, tight-pants wearing, teenage members of the opposite sex.

The kid smiled brightly and stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Fitzie, I'm Jonah."

Darcy stared at the boy's hand as if it were a cobra ready to strike him and offered him a slight nod of his head.

Georgie smiled apologetically at Jonah. "You'll have to excuse my brother unfortunately he was raised by howler monkeys; our parents did all they could, but sometimes he can't help his subhuman manners."

"At least he doesn't fling his poo," Jonah laughed nervously and Darcy not-so discreetly rolled his eyes.

"Good to see you're keeping fine company at Exeter," he mumbled arrogantly.

"While we're on the subject of 'company'," Georgiana glared, "Will, where's this new girlfriend of your's?"

"Oh, uh, Lizzie, she's…" Darcy's head whipped from side to side frantically before turning back to Georgie. "She – she was right behind me," he finished, puzzled. Spinning around again this time he spotted her heading toward them from the opposite end of the terminal; Lizzie casually made her way through the rush of people somehow managing to drag her suitcase with one hand and hold a massive Nathan's hotdog with the other (even taking the occasional bite).

Darcy fought the urge to smile once she joined the group. "Nice to see you could make it," he teased.

"Sorry," Lizzie apologized with a mouth full of Nathan's finest and Darcy grimaced,

Georgiana giggled. "You can swallow, you know. Really, we don't mind waiting."

Blushing, Lizzie managed to down the rest of the hotdog and staved off the desire to swallow the rest of it whole. This was the first, official craving of _anything_ food like in her pregnancy; up until now ninety-nine percent of the time she'd felt more like puking than eating (and unfortunately did).

"I feel like I haven't ate in years." Lizzie put a hand on her stomach and sent a sly smirk in Darcy's direction. "I'm probably incubating a tapeworm."

Georgiana made a mental note of the slight bulging of her brother's eyes as she extended a hand to Lizzie. "Hi, I'm…"

"Georgiana," Lizzie finished for the teen, ditching her suitcase handle to shake Georgie's hand. "I'm…" spotting Jonah's sign out of the corner of her eye, she said with a snicker, "Fitzie's lady friend."

* * *

Charlotte pouted.

Usually this would be enough to persuade her unsuspecting victim to bend to her every whim – this pout, carried so much power that it had once earned her a stellar pair of Manolo's and a Honda Civic – but, Jane (killer!pout's intended target for the night) merely glanced up from the mountain of paperwork laid out before her and shook her head,

"No."

"Oh come on, Jane!" Charlotte huffed. "With Lizzie gone, I've got no one to keep me company…"

Jane smirked. "You mean, with Lizzie gone you've got no one to be your 'wingman'."

Charlotte practically whined as she paced back and forth, "Do you have _any_ idea how long it's been since my ass was accidentally brushed up against in a club? Or how long it's been since I came home with a pocket full of phone numbers from sleazy guys? I need sleazy guys, Janie!"

"I'm sorry…?" Jane's voice was low and cautious as if she were speaking to a mental patient.

A sigh, "You're killing me, Bennet."

"Charlotte, I would go out with you, _I really_ would, but I've got a ton of work to do. These depositions have to be read by Friday and you know I'm on call to talk Lizzie out of killing Darcy if need be." she smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid I'm doomed to a boring night in."

A knock at the door put halt to any further begging (and pouting) on Charlotte's end and with slumped shoulders and the promise of another tiresome, pathetic night at home she flung it open.

Standing in the entry way was a rather rumpled Charlie Bingley with an armful of Chinese takeout and a sheepish look creeping across his features. "Um…am I early?"

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at blushing Jane without missing a beat. "I hope he bores the fuck out of you."

* * *

The unrelenting need for one of Nathan's finest, calorie-filled, ass-expanding hot dogs had unwittingly opened a floodgate in Lizzie's womb; her little 'tapeworm' was currently in the mood to taste every food that had ever been invented and she was more than happy to oblige.

Lazily splayed out on the massive king bed in her hotel suite, she flipped through the room service menu practically drooling with each description.

"Oh, hi there, mister jumbo size banana split. You want to spend the night in my tummy, don't ya? Don't pretend you're all shy…" Lizzie cooed as she reached for the phone on the nightstand.

"Am I interrupting something?" Darcy stood in the doorway noticeably amused.

Lizzie frowned. "Clearly you've never heard of knocking."

His reply was spot on, deadpan, "Clearly."

Awkwardly, Darcy stepped further into the room, making sure to keep himself as close to the wall as humanly possible. Five whole minutes of silence actually ticked by – with Darcy uneasily keeping his distance and Lizzie unsuccessfully pretending to be engrossed in the hotel's description for their award-winning flan, until finally she couldn't take it anymore!

If he didn't stop staring at her like that, she'd snap his neck.

"Can I help you with something?" Lizzie asked, obviously annoyed.

"Oh, um…"Darcy began, nervously raking a hand through his dark hair, "I was thinking this weekend would be perfect for us to stage the engagement. Proposing in front of Georgie will definitely shut up any critics and make this seem more legit."

She nodded and replied disinterestedly, "Okay."

"Okay?"

Lizzie raised a brow. "What?"

Darcy chuckled. "Nothing, I actually expected more of an objection on your part; possibly some shouting and definitely some threats against my life."

"We can do it over if it'll make you feel better." She smiled. "I have a talent for pissing and moaning."

"Nah." He shrugged. "I'm sure you'll make up for it some other time."

The conversation died and Darcy remained clinging awkwardly to the wall much to the dismay of Lizzie. She could literally feel his eyes on her practically boring holes through her skin; if he was aiming to make her feel inadequate and self conscious then he was succeeding, with fucking flying colors.

Suddenly, no longer in the mood for that massive banana split, Lizzie shut the room service booklet and pulled herself upright. "Was there something else you needed?"

He loudly cleared his throat. "Maybe, whenever you're feeling up to it, we should rehearse. I've got a few rings for you to take a look at, just pick whichever you like best…"

"No," she told him so sharply that Darcy did a double take.

"No?!"

Lizzie nodded. "No."

Darcy snorted. "See, I knew you'd make up for it in no time."

"Darcy, I'm _not_ going to rehearse my proposal," Lizzie said her eyes narrowing. "I may be your fake, contractually-bound girlfriend, but I'm your fake, contractually-bound girlfriend whose never in her life been proposed to. Surprise me."

He blinked and dared to take a step away from the comfort of the wall. "Surprise you?"

"You do know the definition of surprise?"

"I'm vaguely familiar."

"Look," Lizzie began with a sigh, "_you_ pick the ring you think I'd like, _you_ pick the moment to ask me and the way _you_ want to ask me. Pretend you love me." She paused, a smile forming on her lips. "Hell, at least pretend you _like_ me a little."

Brows forming a neat, little crease in the middle of his head, Darcy stared at Lizzie in confusion. "I don't think Jane said what your favorite ring type was in your folder."

"Then maybe you should try getting to know the living, breathing me instead of the me on paper. You've got an entire week start."

Silently, Darcy regarded for a moment longer and then abruptly turned on his heels and left the room.

Flopping back onto the bed, Lizzie sighed heavily.

"A long, _long_ week."

* * *

_Author's Note: _

_A few things: _

_The opening scene for this chapter **takes place in the same time frame as the opening scene in part one**. Don't be confused. And yes, you'll find out what the hell's going on eventually (hopefully in the next chapter). I know I said this would be a two-parter, but I got to ten pages (with 9 more scenes to write) and decided it would be best to stop here and give you guys an update._

_Working on getting back to a regular update schedule. This chapter was delayed time and time again because I needed to concentrate on school, but now I'm out until the fall and although work is sucking out my soul, I hope to be a bit more speedy with the updates. Hey, you get a ridiculously long chapter to chew on for your troubles. That's gotta count for something, amirite?_

_I somehow managed to mention poop more than once in this chapter. I dunno why I'm telling you this, guess I'm just proud. _

_Reviews are loved. Leave one if you're feeling up to it. _


	11. Fitzwilliam, it was Really Nothing Pt3

_The update's picking up right where we left off at the end of the last chapter. _

* * *

_**Fitzwilliam, It Was Really Nothing**_

**Part 3**

Georgiana Darcy had an evil streak.

Sure, on the outside she appeared to be all sweetness and light personified, what with her fair hair, peaches and crème complexion, and gentle voice. If one never bothered to delve deep into the guts of little Georgie, then one would most assuredly come to the conclusion that the young miss was made entirely of starlight and Hilary Duff movies and that sort of nauseating cutesy bullshit.

And one would most assuredly be dead wrong.

Georgiana Darcy possessed a great darkness on the inside; okay, so it was the sort of darkness that led to things like drowning her brother's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the toilet and spitting off of third story balconies with the knowledge of a crowded sidewalk below. She may not have had a body parts collection in her freezer, but the sadism was still there, and it was this evil streak that led her to Room 304 in the Marriott Marquee at 6:01 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

Armed with a theory that people were never as honest as they are when they're sleeping and when they first wake, Georgiana had set her alarm clock for the sort of hour humans never see unless they have cattle to tend to. Somehow she rolled out of bed at five a.m., thanked Jesus that her roommate was too unconscious to say no to her borrowing their car, and quietly slipped off of the Exeter campus. And the reason for all of this James Bond-y shit was a simple feeling – a strange nagging at the back of her mind that something wasn't quite right in the state of Will and Elizabeth.

Something Georgie'd noticed in the two's behavior when they thought no one was watching: they seemed exceedingly uncomfortable with one another. There was a moment while Jonah drove the group to the hotel that Georgie put her skills at pretending to straighten her hair in the flip down mirror to use, and stealthy observed the couple in the backseat.

Will sat stiff as a board not moving an inch save for a few furtive glances in Lizzie's direction. His 'lady friend' on the other hand, took to sinking against the backseat with her eyes fixed on the blur of trees and cars outside of the window. Certainly this was not the picture of a happy couple Will had painted so vividly over the phone, and if something was up, Georgie was going to get to the bottom of it and beat the living shit out of that bonehead if he indeed was attempting to play her for a fool.

The elevator lurched to a stop, the tell-tale ding of the doors sounded as they slid open revealing the hotel's third floor, and Georgiana crossed the threshold.

It wasn't too hard spotting Room 304 despite the hallway's infinite appearance; after watching Lizzie practically swallow three Nathan's hotdogs whole yesterday, Georgie was sure that behind the door with the two room service carts piled high with empty dishes, she'd find her brother and his paramour.

Eyeing the virtual graveyard of pizza crust, chicken bones, and what appeared to be a schooner of ice cream, Georgie shook her head.

"Lizzie should seriously look into that tapeworm theory."

**xx**

Darcy was in the middle of switching to uncomfortable position number five-thousand and sixty-seven of the night when a rather loud knock caused his eyes to fly open. With a heavy sigh he turned a blood-shot, baby blue in the direction of the door and casually rolled off of the common room couch.

A yawn,

A quick glance through the peep hole,

An unattractive (but necessary) scratch at the front of his boxers,

A hand on the doorknob,

A pause,

Another glance through the peephole…and a widening of his eyes:

"Shit!" he mouthed, and quickly ran back to the couch gathering up any and all evidence of he and Lizzie's sleeping arrangements. With Georgiana's persistent knocking still ringing in his ears, Darcy threw open the bedroom door and blindly made his way to the closet, chucking the pillow and extra blankets inside. Closing the door softly on Lizzie's light snoring, he attempted to bring his breathing back down to normal.

Georgiana was all smiles. "Good morning, Starshine."

Darcy grumbled, "The earth says hello."

She giggled and gave him a mock frown-y face. "Aww, what's with the sour puss? You've, only been in town for a day don't tell me you're already sick of seeing me."

He blinked. "Have you looked at a clock? They do have clocks where you live, right…?"

"Relax Fitzie," Georgie said rolling her eyes, "I'm not here for you anyway. I thought maybe Lizzie would like to grab some breakfast." Taking a quick look in the direction of the room service carts, she added, "But I fear she may have exploded."

"She's fine; fully intact." Darcy grinned.

"Where is she?"

"Playing soccer," he deadpanned. "She's knocked out, Georgie. She's exhausted and needs to…"

"So go wake her up, then!" She pushed her way into the hotel room. "Go, go, go! Egg McMuffin's are never better than when they're made first thing by disgruntled, underpaid, employees."

With Georgiana on his heels, Darcy reluctantly opened the bedroom door. He positioned himself awkwardly on the opposite end of the bed and clicked on the desk lamp; swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, he made a move to gently tap Lizzie's unconscious form.

"Lizzie…"

In response, she snuggled further down into the blankets covering up the spot of bare skin Darcy had just hit. Gritting his teeth he climbed further up on the bed and tried lightly shaking her.

"Lizzie…hey, Lizzie…"

That time there was a snort – from Georgiana's direction.

Shutting his eyes, Darcy quickly gathered himself; he was going to have to approach this from an entirely different, much more dangerous angle. Slowly pulling the covers off of her shoulder, he leaned in close putting his lips to her ear.

"Elizabeth," he whispered huskily while raking a hand across her skin. There was a delightful, little whimper that escaped Lizzie's mouth and he continued on for the moment completely oblivious to his sister's presence. "Elizabeth…c'mon sleepy head," he nuzzled her neck.

Lizzie turned over with another contented moan and opened her eyes; her serene expression was immediately blown to hell at the sight of Will Darcy hovering over her and Lizzie did the first thing that came to her sleep-addled mind,

She screamed and hit Darcy square in the face. _Hard_.

"Jesus Christ!" he cried out in pain, reeling from the punch.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Lizzie bolted straight up.

"Bleeding internally!" Darcy shouted back, clutching his nose "What is wrong with you?!"

"What's wrong with _me_?! What…"

Georgiana loudly cleared her throat and a surprised Lizzie whipped her head around in the direction of the doorway.

Georgie smiled. "Good morning, Starshine."

**xx**

"Did I mention how very sorry I am? Cause, I'm really, _really_ sorry."

Darcy's reply was muffled by the bloody rag covering his nose. "Yes; only about a million times."

Lizzie smiled thinly and positioned herself between his legs. Darcy looked down from atop his perch on the bathroom counter, brows knit. "Should I be afraid?"

Rolling her eyes she gently took the rag out of his hands. "Growing up with four sisters has pretty much made me a deadly weapon and for the millionth-and-one time, I'm sorry I unleashed the fury on you." She leaned in close to inspect his nose. "It doesn't look broken…"

"And Dr. Bennet returns…" he said with a hint of a smile.

"You, did catch the four sisters part, right? She shook her head. "Okay, so Jane's Mother Theresa and all, but those other three heifers are forces to be reckoned with. When we weren't pulling each other's hair, we were pulling the hair of neighborhood girls on each other's _behalf_." Lizzie chuckled, "The Bennet clan has a proud tradition of kicking ass and taking names which ultimately leads us to be skilled in medical care."

"What are their names?"

Lizzie handed him the rag. "Who?"

"Your sisters…the heifers."

"Oh," she grinned, "well there's Mary who's nineteen; somewhere around eighth grade she hit a pit of despair that only Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance can understand and likes to express this by shopping at Hot Topic. Then there's Lydia and Kit, seventeen year old twin terrors. Complete walking hormone bombs; Lydia can actually smell men within a fifty mile radius and Kit's content following her every move."

Darcy nodded a bit awkwardly at a loss as to what to say next. This was what Lizzie had wanted, right? For the two of them to get to know each other without treating the whole thing as a business deal and he'd done the impossible and managed to get her talking only to let his nerves get the best of him. He couldn't help it; there she was with her glowing skin, adorable, haphazard ponytail, and _those_ eyes. His increasing attraction to Lizzie only served to wake up his social retardation.

It seemed as though an eternity had passed in silence and she eyed him expectantly, fiddling with the bottom of her tanktop. "So…do you have any other siblings?"

"No," he replied flatly.

Utterly defeated by his sudden shyness, Darcy made a move to jump down from the counter and Lizzie instinctually backed up to give him room.

"Thanks," he muttered.

She shrugged. "Next time we're in the same town as your sister and I wake up to you looming over me like a rapist I promise I'll react a little differently."

With a thin smile, he wordlessly exited the bathroom leaving a puzzled Lizzie behind.

* * *

"Okay…I'm gonna puke. It's not even the 'I feel like I'm gonna puke' feeling; it's the scary 'I _know_ I'm gonna puke and it's gonna happen in the most horrible of places' feeling." 

Georgie gripped the dressing table for support and stared blindly into the bright lights above the mirror. Closing her eyes briefly, she counted silently to ten and when she felt she had successfully staved off the need to heave she turned to face a sympathetic Lizzie.

It was funny her reasons for begging Lizzie to oversee all of her girly preparations for the recital had been completely mercenary. It was the first moment Georgie'd had with her alone after breakfast had (hilariously) fallen through and she'd planned to use this time to grill the unsuspecting woman. Only, Lizzie's genuine sisterly-like regard for her (and her nerves) threw Georgie's plans off entirely.

Fiddling with the straps on the teen's dress, Lizzie smiled warmly. "Your brother tells me you're absolutely brilliant; don't worry you're going to be fine." Taking a moment to pause, she grabbed a nearby wastebasket and set it at Georgie's feet. "But, it's better to be safe than sorry. I hope you've got great aim, this dress cost me two weeks worth of paychecks," she said lightheartedly.

Curiously Georgie tilted her head with a sideways grin. "You're different."

"I've been told that," was Lizzie's self-deprecating reply.

"No, I mean, you're different from the others. Will has a history of being the typical LA snot when it comes to his girlfriends," she sighed and shook her head. "Awful models and even awful-er actresses…"

"Well, to her credit, Cameron Diaz didn't suck _as_ hard in Vanilla Sky." Lizzie smirked and gestured for Georgie to turn around. "Let me inspect the back and then you can be on your way to rocking the faces off an auditorium full of grey hairs."

Georgie snorted as she twirled. "I admit I was shocked when I found out he was dating again. His last girlfriend, Eva…" she pulled a face.

"Trouble, huh?"

A nod, "That's one way of putting it; the way I was thinking involved a four letter word beginning with 'C'."

Lizzie grinned. "Uh-huh."

"Eva's just…well, a complete misuse of human cells – that's really the only way to say it that doesn't totally make me feel like I'm going to hell. She did a number on Will – the kind of number the sensitive types rarely recover from…" Georgie smiled wanly. "I guess I'm just asking you to go easy on him." She then added in a less serious tone, "Don't let this wispy blonde chick exterior fool you, I can kill without mercy."

Lizzie's features softened. "I'll do my best, but only because wispy blonde chicks scare the piss out of me."

After reining in her nerves (and vomiting only once), Georgie did in fact live up to her reputation for being brilliant and rocked the faces off the mostly older crowd packed in the auditorium that night – wowing them with a piece she composed entirely herself. It was when the group was making their way to the parking lot that she and Jonah excitedly announced they planned on taking Will and Lizzie out on the town.

Darcy naturally soured at this. "Taking us where, exactly?"

Lizzie shot him a look. "Don't get too eager there, Captain Fun."

A loud laugh escaped Jonah's lips and he unsuccessfully tried to cover it with a cough when Darcy glared at him.

"It's a surprise," Georgie told them with a grin. "Just make sure you change into something a lot less stuffy."

"And perhaps, skanky," Jonah added sardonically.

Georgie giggled at that. "Yeah, skanky's always good."

In absolute panic, Darcy's gaze shot between the three; he _loathed_ surprises and surprises from his sister (a painful memory of finding his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lurking the depths of the toilet bowl came to mind) were certainly nothing to look forward to.

* * *

"Oh fuck me…" He muttered under his breath as he tried with all of his might to keep himself from smashing his forehead against the steering wheel. Grumpily, Darcy maneuvered the rental car through the crowd of kids that were heading towards the club's entrance finally finding a parking spot near a sketchy back alley. 

Dear Christ, how he _hated_ surprises.

Lizzie's eyes glowed with amusement when she turned to face him. "I'm kinda sad you don't have a cane to shake."

With a sigh, he pulled the keys from the ignition. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you twenty-four going on eighty?" she laughed.

"I'm not one for crowds. Clubs inevitably lead to crowds. Georgiana knows this she's just trying to torture me."

"Huh," Lizzie began with a tilt of her head, "that's ironic considering how we met and all. Next thing you know, I'll find a fly in my chardonnay."

Darcy hesitated, "When we met, I was…going through something…"

"Eva." She nodded grimly.

He regarded her momentarily, his features completely blank and then promptly exited the car without so much as peep let alone another word.

Thoroughly confused (and just a tad bit annoyed) Lizzie jumped out after him. "What is with you and these hasty exists in the middle of conversation?" She asked, frustrated, as she struggled to catch up. "All that money your parents poured into a private school education and they didn't bother to teach you social skills?"

Darcy stopped in his tracks. "What do you know about, Eva?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I know Georgie used the phrase '**C U Next Tuesday**' to describe her."

Practically crushing her hand with his, he told her in a clipped voice, "Good. Let's keep it that way."

Upon reaching the door, they were immediately ushered towards the back of the stage by a tall, gangly boy who'd clearly stolen his sister's jeans.

"You're Georgie's brother right?" The kid tried his best at shouting over the chatter.

"Yeah," Lizzie answered on Darcy's behalf. "How'd you know?"

The boy smiled. "She told me to lookout for a tall guy, with dark hair who seemed like the most miserable bastard in the room."

Darcy rolled his eyes and Lizzie laughed loudly squeezing his arm. "Perfect description."

Backstage was virtual chaos, with loads of teenagers and even more loads of equipment crawling over every inch of its surface; somehow the pair managed to spot Jonah in the middle of all of the madness carefully unpacking guitar cases.

Happening to glance up from his work, Jonah smiled brightly at the sight of Darcy and Elizabeth, and pushed a mess of chocolate hair out of his eyes. "Hey! You made it, huh?" He gave Lizzie a quick once-over. "What happened to skanky?" Jonah asked playfully.

"My best skanky days are behind me, I suppose," she told him with a crooked grin.

"Where's my sister?" Darcy didn't bother with the pleasantries and Jonah solemnly shook his head,

"Bathroom," he told Darcy with a sigh. "She's really got to get over this stage fright thing. Anyway, we're about to go on in fifteen minutes – just as soon as they finish sound check and I pull Georgie's head out of the toilet. So, you guys can sit back here and chill or I highly recommend finding a good spot out front." He shook his head. "I never understood the appeal of being backstage at a show."

Eyebrow cocked and lips curling into the insult-hurling ready position, Darcy had a verbal assault lined up that was so powerful it would have left a cloud of obscenity and piss and vinegar hanging over the whole of New Hampshire, and then Lizzie went and grabbed his arm,

"Cool, we'll be right up front. Have a good show, okay," she told Jonah while yanking Darcy in the direction of the crowd.

"_Please_ tell me whatever it is you were about to say to Jonah involved the phrase 'have a good time'."

He threw his hands up in frustration. "Georgie's supposed to be focusing on graduating at the top of her class not screwing around with some band!"

Brown eyes rolled heavenwards. "Because _god_ forbid she play anything other than some dead Austrian's concertos! Or have a social life."

"That kid is wasting her time!" he shouted. "She…"

The house lights dimming and the cheer of the audience around them put an end to Darcy's rant and Lizzie told him sternly before turning her eyes to the stage, "Shut up and be supportive."

As it turned out, Georgiana and her boyfriend fronted one of the most popular/buzzworthy bands to come out of the Exeter area. Through enormous talent, and lots of MySpace hits, what was once a way to kill after-school boredom had become the juggernaut known as, Everywhere and His Nasty Parlor Tricks (named so because of Jonah's Modest Mouse obsession).

It also turned out that 'Everywhere' and its five members (all of whom had yet to reach legal voting age) had been cranking out their own special brand of quirky, indie-pop for over a year, and were lucky enough to be noticed by a few record execs. This particular show was a celebration, as it was their first as a signed band.

And, in other heart attack-inducing events Fitzwilliam Darcy did not see coming, it seemed that Lizzie had a penchant for dancing. His senses were ridiculously heightened from their short fight earlier and the crowd closing in from behind only served to press him into the back of his gyrating, fake girlfriend (who was clearly feeling the song's groovy bass line).

The crowd shoved forward and he instinctually put an arm around Lizzie's waist to hold her steady. She cast a look over her shoulder, seemingly grateful for the protective gesture and when the crowd finally settled, Lizzie once again lost herself in the music.

Darcy's arm remaining firmly wrapped around her petite frame proved to be the death of him as Lizzie's hips rocked back and forth in perfect time. Eyes closing, he found himself getting lost in the feel of having her in his arms and unconsciously moved with her; resting his chin on the top of her head afforded him the luxury of a whiff of Lizzie's hair, it smelled of strawberries and Darcy wondered if she tasted like strawberries as well. In the back of his mind he knew this train of thought was no good – this was a business arrangement and it was idiotic and dangerous of him to treat their relationship as anything but, but good leaping Christ, he was a man after all! No straight man could possibly be immune to the package that Elizabeth Bennet presented; he'd grown to admire her confidence and her wit (even when he was the target), and if he hadn't found her physically attractive, the tiny bump in her stomach, which his hand now rested on, wouldn't be there. In the end, cold, business-minded logic took over, allowing his libido this small victory but vowing to stay strong from here on out.

Thunderous applause and screams brought Darcy out of his reverie and he reluctantly let Lizzie go. She turned around, smiling brilliantly.

"They're so awesome, aren't they?!" she shouted above the crowd.

"Yeah," he nodded, "not bad."

"Not bad?!" She raised an eyebrow. "Fucking amazing is more like it!"

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin. "That's what I meant by 'not bad'."

Lizzie put her attention back on the stage, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting an appreciative "Whoo!" at the top of her lungs.

Georgie wore a Cheshire Cat expression as she put her lips to her microphone. "Nice moves, Fitzie," she said and Darcy immediately attempted to will himself off the face of the earth. "My brother's here tonight…" The announcement garnered a lot of cheers from the female members of the audience and Georgie laughed, "I guess you guys read _People_, huh? Anyway, yeah, my brother's here and it's cool because it's rare that I get to have family out at one of these things. Maybe, I can persuade his girlfriend to let him come sell T-shirts for us when we tour in the fall."

"Keep him for as long as you want!" Lizzie shouted back good naturedly earning a few laughs.

"Oh great," Georgie chuckled, "Will you're a merch-boy now."

Jonah strummed a few cords, absently tuning his guitar. "We're super excited to be opening for Mewithoutyou this fall, so every one of you has to come out and go ape-shit during our set," he said with a smirk. "We wanna look as important as possible."

"Damn straight," Georgie interjected.

"Okay, we got a couple more for you before we get outta here. I had a dream about being abducted by aliens and wrote a song about it. Wanna hear it? Here it goes," Jonah told the audience jokingly and launched into the blistering opening cords of the next song.

**xx**

"Oh my god, you guys! That was incredible!"

Georgiana enthusiastically hugged Lizzie as she came off stage and humbly blushed. "You really think so?"

"Trust me, I'm a total and complete music snob – you were amazing."

Smiling, Georgie gave her brother a playful punch in the arm. "It definitely looked like you were enjoying yourself for once." Darcy's expression was cold and Georgiana's own turned to seriousness when it dawned on her he wasn't playing along. "Look, I was only kidding up there – I didn't mean to embarrass you, it was just great to see you having a good time…"

"I've been trying to figure out how you're going to do a national tour and attend classes at Brown at the same time," he said sternly and the teen paled.

"I meant to tell you about that," Georgie started.

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "Tell me about what?"

"I, uh," she paused and took a deep breath, "I decided I'm not going to Brown in the fall."

"It's not a good idea to defer enrollment, Georgie. You don't want to be behind your peers." His hands had made their way to his hips and his sudden fatherly tone made him appear far older than his twenty-four years.

"Actually," Georgiana began with weakly, "I've decided I'm not going to college. Period."

Lizzie's eyes flitted nervously between the siblings and off in the distance she _swore _she heard a snake rattle.

* * *

"I know it's really none of my business, but you were kinda hard on her…" 

Darcy walked purposefully toward the car with Lizzie once again struggling to keep up, while she continued to state her case to the back of his head.

"Georgie's immensely talented and this is a pretty huge opportunity for her band. Okay, so this wasn't exactly in the Darcy-family plan, but she deserves the chance to do what makes her happy. The least you could do is support her."

Stopping suddenly he turned to face her, his countenance practically stone, but fire blazing in his eyes. "I'm not going to support her fuckups and that's _exactly_ what she's doing! Do you have any idea what my father would say if he were here?! This wouldn't even be an issue – he'd set her straight faster than you could blink. We have an obligation to uphold, one that you couldn't possibly begin to understand. The 'Darcy' name doesn't exactly conjure up images of gigging across country in dirty night clubs!"

Lizzie stood, mouth agape and her hands forming into fists at her side. "You think I don't understand familial obligation?! Oh, I can't _wait_ for you to meet my mother."

"It's not the same, Lizzie." He shook his head. "Our linage can be traced back to English lords, not to mention that Georgie and I are the faces of our father's business empire. There's certain expectations that come with that, and yeah, a I wouldn't expect a girl from the Valley to grasp that."

At the taste of blood, Lizzie had to remind herself to remove her teeth from the meat of her cheek. "And you're certainly doing a good job at keeping the 'Darcy' name golden," she spat out nastily.

"I'm fixing my mistakes," he replied coolly and without another word he fished the depths of his jean pocket for the car keys.

* * *

_Author's Note: So, how's everybody doing? Cool I hope. I didn't intend to make you all wait so long for an update, but I discovered writing longer chapters when you tend to second guess every line you type, means they'll take longer to finish. Sorry if I gave some of you the impression that this fic was abandoned, it's not…this chapter simply went through a few rewrites. _

_Anyway, there's a line about Lizzie's baby bump being tiny – this is what I intended all along, seeing as how she's somewhere around 14/15 weeks at this point in the story, but it occurred to me that I didn't make that clear in the first chapter. I plan on going back at some point and rewriting the end scene in the first chapter to reflect this (I was never happy with the end of that scene anyway). _

_Um, I think that's about it. If I said this chapter would finally wrap up this arc in the story, I lied my ass off. The next chapter DEFINITELY will. And it'll be considerably shorter, to hopefully minimize the wait. _

_Review if you feel like it. _

_Hallelujah, hollaback. _


	12. Bang the Doldrums

_For, Casey. _

* * *

_**Bang the Doldrums **_

Charlotte was surprised to receive a call from Lizzie asking for a ride home from the airport. First of all, it was ten in the morning – her prime time to be unconscious, and second of all, she had expected Little Lord Darcy to at least be capable of driving her friend home; but from Lizzie's deathly silence all the way from LAX to their apartment on 2nd street, Charlotte immediately knew the 'vacation' had not been a relaxing one.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Charlotte asked as she swung the car into a parking space.

Lizzie sighed heavily, "You don't wanna know my thoughts."

"I promise you won't offend my delicate sensibilities," she said with a crooked grin.

"You don't have any," Lizzie shot back actually managing a smile.

"I know; I'm completely amoral so you have nothing to worry about."

"Stab, shoot, decapitate…"

"Oh, is _that_ all?" Charlotte cast a sympathetic smile in Lizzie's direction as they climbed out and quickly rounded the car to grab the bags out of the trunk. "Did I ever tell you how very sorry I am for making you go to the club that night? And then not stopping you from going home with him? Cause, I am, _really_ sorry…"

"He's the most pompous jackass I've ever met! Seriously, he told me I couldn't understand what it was like to live with the weight of familial obligations on my shoulders because I'm a middle class kid from the Valley!"

"He said that?!" Charlotte's eyes widened.

"Well…" Lizzie began scrunching her face up as she slung the small carryon over her shoulder, "I may have jazzed it up a bit, but yeah, that was the gist. Oh, and get this, _I'm _the mistake he's fixing. It's like he thinks I'm absolutely thrilled I got knocked up because of who he is."

"All things considered, you did kinda hit the jackpot in that area."

Lizzie made a point to violently mash the elevator button. "But, that's just it; I don't care about his money, or his stupid name! His family roots could be traced all the way back to a bum living in an alley behind a pub in London and it wouldn't make a difference – Darcy would _still_ be a total fuckwit."

* * *

"God, Will, you're a total fuckwit."

Darcy sunk against the passenger door with a frown. He couldn't understand for the life of him why he was the one being treated like the bad guy.

Elizabeth took to giving him the painful silent treatment for the remainder of their trip; when they were in the presence of Georgie (who was also busy perfecting her cold shoulder), Lizzie played the part of his doting girlfriend perfectly, but when they were alone she would barely condescend to look in his direction let alone speak more than two words to him.

After three whole days of that sort of tension, he finally fed his sister a load of bull about needing to get back to the office, nixed his plans about proposing all together, and coolly instructed Lizzie to pack her bags. Once they landed in LA he offered to have his driver take her home, to which Lizzie replied with an exaggerated southern drawl,

"But Mr. Darcy, I'm just a poor girl from the Valley. I dun know nothin' 'bout no limos."

Okay, so maybe he could have handled the situation with Georgie a little better (a lot better), but he stood by his feelings on the matter, and Georgie's _his_ sister so it really wasn't Elizabeth's place to question him as far as her well-being is concerned.

"Why don't you just apologize and explain to Lizzie that your mouth works independently of your brain?"

Holding his cell up with his shoulder, Darcy stretched out on the limo's backseat. "Why should I apologize? I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Charles audibly sighed. "True or not, it was still rude and she has every right to be pissed. You're going to have to coexist at some point I figure it will be easier if you admit to being a jackass now."

Darcy clearly heard the distinct sound of a toilet flushing on the other end of the line and scrunched his face up. "Are you talking to me while you're in the bathroom?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Darcy rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. "Could you just do what I asked, please? No more lectures. No more name-calling; and _certainly_ no more of whatever it is you're doing in the bathroom."

Charles gave him a defeated sigh, "_Okay_, but if you're looking to smooth things over with Lizzie, I don't think this is the way to go about it."

"Things don't have to be smooth with Lizzie," Darcy grunted, "they, only have to appear that way to everyone else."

* * *

Charlie closed the bathroom door behind him, slipped off his Bluetooth with his free hand, and side-stepped Lizzie and her rolling luggage.

"Hey, Lizzie, welcome back." He smiled and disappeared into the bedroom across the hall.

"Hey, Charlie," she replied absently.

Suitcase wheels stopped with a screeching halt as Lizzie's eyes darted between the bathroom door and her sister's bedroom where she could have sworn Charles Bingley, only clad in his boxer shorts, just walked into.

"Jane obviously had a _much_ better week than I did."

* * *

"Sarah, hold all of my calls."

The ever dutiful secretary glanced up from behind her computer monitor quickly minimizing the window containing Perez Hilton's latest gossip, and gave her boss a sly smile. "So, how many fictional meetings are you in today? Just so I can practice the lie."

Darcy didn't bother to stop. "Make it a nice even number," he told her over his shoulder.

Once safe inside the confines of his office, Darcy sank comfortably into the Italian leather of his desk chair and immediately went for the iPod stashed away in the desk's top drawer. He simply wanted a moment to himself; when he first arrived to work that morning, he was quite literally ambushed by his staff and stuck in meeting after mind-numbing meeting – assaulted with figures and projections he didn't care about all the way up until lunch.

Leaning back, he slipped the mp3 player's earbuds in and let the 'soothing' sounds of Cannibal Corpse lull him into a fantastic state of non-thought. His appointment book lay open across the cherry-wooded varnish of the desk possibly left so by Sarah when she was double checking meetings of his she would later have to cancel; Darcy made a move to close it when one entry caught his eye:

_Dr. O'Malley – November 15__th__, 3:30 p.m. _

Oh, god, he had _completely_ forgotten about Lizzie's doctor appointment! Pushing up the sleeve of his suit jacket, he checked his watch; it was already ten after three. If he rushed out the door now and broke every speed limit on his way to TGI Friday's, he could get Lizzie there just a couple minutes late.

Hitting the pause button on the sounds of death metal growls and blast beats, Darcy made a move to jump out of his chair and then stopped. Lizzie obviously hadn't made any attempt to remind him – three whole weeks had passed since they had gotten back into town and he hadn't heard a single word from her. So, maybe she didn't want him there and the very last thing he wanted was to show up and be blown off.

"Could always call and make sure…" Darcy mumbled to himself as he grabbed his cell out of his pocket and turned it on. Swallowing the lump that had mysteriously formed in his throat, he scrolled through his list of contacts and reluctantly hit the 'send' button.

"TGI Friday's, this is Navi." The voice on the other end didn't exactly sound enthused.

"Um, can I speak to Elizabeth Bennet?"

"Sorry, Lizzie's gone for the day."

Darcy sighed feeling strangely hurt, "Oh, okay. Um, thanks," he muttered and hung up quickly.

Sitting back in the chair with a grim expression, Darcy tucked his phone away and returned the earbuds to their rightful place.

* * *

"Oh, Lizzie, I thought you'd gone!" Navi said with a sheepish look as Lizzie and Wickham passed by the hostess' podium.

Stopping in her tracks, Lizzie turned around. "I would have been, if my ride hadn't bailed on me," she told Navi bitterly, "why?"

"You had a phone call." The teen popped her gum loudly, "But, they didn't leave a name." She shrugged. "Oh well, catch ya later."

Lizzie gave her a little wave and followed Wickham out of the restaurant's double doors; smiling graciously, the beginnings of a blush creeping up into her cheeks, she babbled, "I can't thank you enough for this, Danny."

"Seriously, it's no problem." He bared his brilliant pearly whites at her. "Not only do I get to help out a friend, but I don't have to deliver a single plate of potato skins for the rest of the afternoon. It's a win, win situation."

Lizzie gave him an affectionate laugh when he held open the passenger door of his beat up Ford Focus for her. Once Wickham slid in the driver's seat, she said, "Ever the gentleman, I see."

He shrugged with a grin. "I try to make my mamma proud."

"Unlike some people I know," she grunted as the tiny car made its way into Santa Monica's traffic.

Wickham glanced at her briefly. "Let me guess, my good buddy Darcy was originally the chauffer for this trip?"

"His cell phone's mysteriously off and his secretary swore he couldn't be reached. I don't even know why I expected him to…" She trailed off and looked at Wickham with pleading eyes. "You have to promise you won't say anything, okay?"

"What, do you have cancer or something?" He asked her teasingly and very quickly grew pale off of her serious expression. "Oh, god, Lizzie, you don't have cancer, do you?!"

Lizzie shook her head, letting a smile cross her lips. "No, but wouldn't you feel like a total asshole if I did. Take that next right," she instructed.

"Very funny," Wickham sighed with relief. "What's wrong then?"

"I'm pregnant." The statement surprised Wickham so much that he ended up jerking the wheel and immediately had to jerk them back into the proper lane with a chorus of horns sounding behind them. Wide-eyed, Lizzie gripped the door handle. "That didn't mean you could kill me now."

"Sorry." He blushed. "Does Darcy know?"

Lizzie nodded. "Yeah, and take a left at that light."

Wickham's face was very bleak. "Good luck with that."

* * *

"I know you said to hold all of your calls, Mr. Darcy, but this is literally the thirtieth time this woman has called in the past hour, and if you don't pick up this phone I'm going to jump out of a window. I mean it."

Sarah's frustrated voice boomed through the intercom; blindly he slammed a hand on the 'talk' button and Darcy picked his head up off of his desk long enough to grumble "Patch her through". So, Elizabeth had expected him after all – it was almost better to be yelled at by her than to continue to sit here feeling utterly useless and unwanted.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I completely forgot about your appointment and I called your work, but you'd already gone…" he babbled into the phone.

"It's sweet of you to apologize, Darcy, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was Eva. Not Lizzie. Eva the Terrible.

If possible, he felt even worse.

"Eva? Sorry, I thought you…why the hell are you calling me?"

"Now, is that any way to speak to the person who's calling to take you out to lunch? I thought maybe we could talk some more – it was really nice seeing you that day, Will."

When feeling the least bit hurt, Darcy had a tendency to act impulsively. It was this fatal character flaw that led to his irresponsible drinking, which led to his irresponsible clubbing, which ultimately led to his irresponsible one-night-stands. And at this very moment, it led to him agreeing to meet Eva at her place in fifteen minutes.

* * *

"I shouldn't have said that – he's your boyfriend. I really hope it all works out."

Lizzie frowned at Wickham, not bothering to take her seatbelt off. "What did he do to you?"

"You're gonna be late," he warned.

"I don't care," she quickly replied.

Wickham took a deep, dramatic breath. "I grew up with Will, though you wouldn't guess it by the looks of my car and my job. Our mother's were best friends, extremely close, and when my mom died in a car accident, the Darcy's took me in. They treated me like a son, loved me like a son, and Will couldn't stand it. Despite my best efforts, we never got along; he was just too insanely jealous of me.

Anyway, when we were juniors in high school, I found out about an affair Will was having with one of his mom's married friends – hey, I know a lot of horny, teenage boys wouldn't agree, but I thought it was right to let someone know. He didn't exactly appreciate the sentiment – he made up some horrible story about me and _his_ mom, which luckily old Mr. Darcy didn't believe. Mr. Darcy was helping to fund my education, but after he died, Will saw to it that those funds were cut off and I had to drop out of school. So, now I'm a broke waiter at a Friday's trying to keep creditors off my back."

"Oh my god," Lizzie said breathlessly, horror etched into her features.

Wickham shrugged. "But, that was all a really long time ago, and he's had to have changed if he landed a great woman like you.

Lizzie brought a tender hand to his cheek. "Danny, I'm so sorry…"

Wickham's green eyes focused on her lips and in an instant his mouth was on hers.

* * *

Eva didn't waste any time; the moment he walked through her door, she pounced on him and Darcy all too readily accepted. He couldn't help it, he felt like total shit and it had been a surprisingly long time since he'd had sex.

"Fitzwilliam, what are you thinking about?"

As insane as it were, for a moment, Darcy was compelled to answer that question with complete and total honesty. That's not to say he usually specialized in being dishonest; he'd merely had enough experiences with women in his lifetime to know that when asked that particular question, absolute truth did not have his best interest at heart.

In fact, absolute truth was only interested in getting him castrated.

And yet, he wanted to tell her anyway. Wanted to tell her instead of sweet and dirty nothings to whisper in her ear, his brain was frantically thinking of exit strategies:

**Sneak phone to bathroom. Text Charlie to call. Make up excuse on way to door.**

**Wait till she falls asleep. Use fire escape as getaway.**

**Hit her over head with alarm clock. Use fire escape as getaway. **

He wanted to tell her instead of dinner plans his brain was frantically thinking of ways to explain what a cad he had been. That, he knew this was wrong, but he had done it out of fear (after all she knew when afraid he was apt to do something incredibly fucking stupid), and honestly he'd had no intentions to hurt her despite their past.

He wanted to tell her all about Lizzie – _everything_ about Lizzie, and he should have done so that day at the cemetery, but it had felt so good to see her; unfortunately blocking her calls and emails because he was angry hadn't turned off his feelings. The whole scene would be infinitely easier if he could find a way to be cold and indifferent.

Eva shifted under the covers and wrapped a slender leg around his thigh, snuggling closer.

Darcy sighed and fought his crisis of conscience. "Nothing; I'm not thinking about a single thing."

"Well, that's disappointing," she pouted, rubbing against him. "I was thinking this has been the best lunch I've had in a while. We should eat together more often," Eva added with a chuckle.

Suddenly, Darcy untangled himself from her and rolled off the bed. "Have you seen my boxers?" he absently asked.

Eva bolted straight up. "Where are you going?"

"I've got a – a meeting, I just remembered. She's already threatened to jump out of a window once today, Sarah will probably slit her wrists if I don't make it," he lied through his teeth while frantically buttoning up his shirt. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Darcy practically sprinted for the door.

"I'll call you, or something."

* * *

She brought a hand to her lips and tried her very best not to cry.

This unfortunate event was just another prime example of her impeccably shit luck when it came to the opposite sex. Since about the age of fourteen, Lizzie had unwittingly amassed an impressive list of loser boyfriends, perverts, and emotional fuckwits; piles of stunted growth who had managed by the grace of god to dodge the clutches of natural selection (see:** Archie the Thief, Danny the Meth Lab Technician, and Nate the Drummer**).

Unfortunately, her list of 'good ones' that got away' was equally as long (depressingly so) and growing longer by the second.

If only she had spent that night at home instead of agreeing to go clubbing with Charlotte…

If only she hadn't had that fifth tequila sunrise on a virtually empty stomach…

If only she hadn't met Will Darcy and made an even bigger mess of her life…

Lizzie let out a tiny sigh and continued to finger her lips as he gazed at her with a devilishly handsome smile on his face. "What are you thinking about, Lizzie?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, and leaned in close to her once again,

If only Daniel Wickham hadn't been such an excellent kisser.

"We're friends, right?" weren't exactly the words Wickham had expected to hear and he stopped just inches from her lips.

"Yeah…" he began looking thoroughly confused.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Lizzie gently pushed him away. "Which is why what happened can _never_ happen again and I hope you understand and don't totally hate me."

His face softened considerably. "Yeah, I understand."

"Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it."

Without another word, Lizzie exited the car and hurried for Dr. O'Malley's office. While in mid jog, her phone began vibrating like crazy in the pocket of her jeans and she stopped to answer it.

"Hello?" she barked frustration evident in her voice.

"Hello, is this Elizabeth Bennet?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hi, this is Corey Nelson with People Magazine. I'm just calling to ask if we could get a statement from you on your engagement to Fitzwilliam Darcy? We've already received a quote from Mr. Darcy and we would like to have one from you as well. He's usually not too generous with the press, so we were surprised when his representative broke the story to us. Oh, god, where are my manners! I completely forgot to tell you congratulations!"

Lizzie could feel the blood boiling behind her eyes.

"No comment."

* * *

_Darcy's a bit of a shit isn't he? Oh well, we love him anyway. _

_Suggestions for the name of Lizzie's doctor from my boyfriend included: Philip McCrotch, Richard Moist (call him Dick), Gregory Mouse (heh), Gene Feelgood, Steve Speculum, Jordan Soggybottom,_ _Dr. Spock, The Medical Offices of Don Polk and Ann Praud, and Virginia Slim. _

_Obviously, he was no help. _

_Leave a review if you feel so inclined. _


	13. Into You Like a Train Pt 1

'_Shat a brick' is such a great expression and is severely underused in Austen fanfic for some reason. I'm going to remedy that. _

_**Into You like a Train**_

_**Part One**_

* * *

****

Lizzie pouted; her bottom lip sticking out as far as it could go and her face scrunching up so that every freckle across the pale skin of her nose stood out. It was a dirty trick, the second best in her entire arsenal that had managed to work since she was very little. Maybe it was her big, brown, doe eyes that held all the power, or perhaps it was the adorableness of the aforementioned freckles themselves that rendered her victims helpless.

Whatever it was, Lizzie's pouty-face had specialized in getting her whatever she wanted since 1989 and it'd never let her down.

Until, now.

"Don't make that face at me," Jane warned, shoving the phone into her little sister's hand. "She's already filled our inbox up to capacity with hysterical messages and threatened Charlotte's life if she didn't get you on the phone. You've gotta call."

"But…Janie…" Her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes widened to anime character proportions.

Standing her ground, Jane merely held up the copy of _People Magazine_ for Lizzie to see:

_**ENGAGED**_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy's America's #1 Bachelor No More!_

The paparazzi photo of her and Darcy from their night at the Ivy stared back at her from under the bold print of the headline and Lizzie dropped her shoulders, taking the phone in defeat.

With overly dramatic sighs and groans of displeasure, she punched in the numbers and tried to keep herself from crying at the sound of the other line ringing.

"Hello, Bennet residence…"

Before Lizzie could even make a sound, the violent, unmistakable shriek of a putout teenage girl rang in her ears,

"I've got it! Jesus H.! How, many times do I have to tell you to quit answering the phone, Mary?!"

"I've got every right to answer it! I live here, don't I?!"

"Unfortunately…"

"Screw you, Lydia!"

"You should look into moving out. I'll help you."

"How's everyone doing?" Lizzie asked sarcastically, finally butting in between her bickering siblings. "Getting along better than ever?"

"Hey, Lizzie," Mary said cheerfully.

"Holy, shit! MAMA, LIZZIE'S ON THE PHONE!" Lydia took to shouting and Lizzie could've sworn she had just gone deaf in her right ear. "You _have_ to tell me what it was like eating at the Ivy."

"Expensive," Lizzie replied dryly.

"Have you seen the library at The Darcy family ranch?" Mary asked enthusiastically. "I've heard it's the biggest private collection in the country…"

"Oh my god, I wish you could've seen Sasha Marlowe's face when I told her my sister was marrying Fitzwilliam Darcy! She totally shat a brick, I'm not even kidding," Lydia cut in. "Hey, I may have promised a couple of people rides in my new brother-in-law's Hummer," a beat, "he _does_ have a Hummer, right? Cause, he would like suck at being rich if he didn't…"

The shrill scream of Lizzie's name over yet another phone line prevented her from answering. "Where have you been?! I've left message after message…Lydia, Mary, you can hang up now – Lydia, I told you to hang up I can still hear you breathing."

"_Ugh, fine_."

Click.

"I've just been, you know, working," Lizzie casually said.

"And getting engaged to rich and powerful men without even bothering to give your poor, suffering mother one, lousy phone call with the good news. After the week I've had, I could've used it," Francesca Bennet whined. "I had a horrible tanning bed accident – my poor legs; I doubt I'll be able to wear shorts this season…"

Lizzie rolled her eyes – it was just like her mother to make the 'plight' of a California housewife sound as if it were akin to Sally Struthers' starving Ethiopians. "Hopefully, it won't come to that," the sarcasm was thinly veiled and a tiny snicker was heard:

"Mary, hang up the phone," Fran sighed loudly.

"_Sorry_."

Click.

"I meant to call…" Lizzie began, lying through her teeth, "but, ya know, Darcy and I have tried to keep our relationship low-key. _People _broke the story before we had a chance to let our families know."

"Oh, well, it's water over the bridge…"

"Under the bridge," Lizzie corrected.

"Over/under, who gives a damn, my Lizzie is going to be a Darcy!" Fran screeched excitedly. "And here I thought you'd never amount to much at all."

Lizzie frowned. "Thanks, mama."

"You should have seen April Forester's face when I showed her the magazine; what's that expression Lydia uses all the time?"

"'Shat a brick'?" Lizzie offered with a snicker.

"That's it! April practically shat a brick when she saw it! And, to think of all that bragging I had to endure when her mongrel was dating one of those little alcoholics from that show _Laguna Beach_. This was the perfect revenge!"

"Glad I could help."

"Your father's barbequing this weekend – we expect to see you and Fitzwilliam drop by…"

"Oh, mom, I don't know about that," Lizzie said quickly. "Darcy's really busy and…"

"Busy?!" her mother squealed indignantly. "How, could he possibly be too busy to spend time with his fiancé and her family?! That's ridiculous, Lizzie! I won't take no for an answer and let us know what his favorite food is, we'll make it special." Fran hung up before Lizzie had another chance to protest.

As, if on cue Jane climbed to her feet and slipped a supportive arm around her little sister's dejected shoulders.

"I'll never understand…" Lizzie began with a deep sigh, "why one house needs so many goddamn phone lines."

* * *

Once upon a time, when things like roller disco and hot pants were all the rage, there lived a rather gangly, pale, Irish immigrant by the name of Sean Bennet, and a slender, well-tanned native Californian named Francesca Mateo.

'Fresh off the boat' as they say, Sean had traveled halfway around the world to make his parents proud by being the first in his family to attend college; while Francesca – whose volleyball skills prevailed over her lack of brain in the academic department, rode the wave of a full scholarship. With the size and massive social divide of the UCLA campus, chances that the two would make eye contact let alone speak to one another were slim at best, and yet they managed to overcome those terrible odds thanks to a crowded pub (the great equalizer near any university) and a drunken frat boy.

On this particular night, Sean sat alone at the bar with the intentions of drinking away the stress a fifteen-page term paper had caused when a commotion to his left piqued his interest:

There was a boy – huge and oafish, red-faced from his drink, which had his dopey bastard hands wrapped around the wrist of a tiny, blonde girl, who looked none-too-pleased about the fact.

Sean waited patiently, nibbled at a couple of his beer nuts, and rose to his feet at the cry of "I said, take your hands off me".

The humongous dolt puffed out his chest, balled up his fists, and was promptly knocked flat on his ass by Sean, who, despite appearances and his friendly nature had one hell of a right hook.

From that night on, Sean and Frannie were inseparable; sure, Sean wasn't the good-looking, football player type Fran was used to, but he made her laugh and he had that dreamy accent. On the same token, Sean found Fran to be a little bit ridiculous, but she was beautiful and could be quite smart when no one was watching, so he didn't mind her airhead moments.

They were married exactly two years later.

The Bennet's had five daughters: Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Lydia and Kit.

Jane was a bundle of pure joy born just a year after the pair married; she was such a beautiful baby one wouldn't have hesitated to believe she had rode a cloud of stardust and sunshine down to earth. Her mother doted on her and her father had a hard time believing his genes had produced a human so perfect.

Seven wonderful years with Jane would pass before the Bennets welcomed Elizabeth – a screaming, wriggling, pink thing with flaming red hair and mischievous dark eyes. Lizzie (or 'Lizard' as her papa liked to call her) was the absolute antithesis of Jane. She had a penchant for getting into trouble and a bit of a flair for the dramatic, and she loved to tease (her mother especially). Lizzie was much more like her father and unquestionably his favorite.

Next to come was Mary, who was also wriggling and pink with flaming red hair, but she lacked Jane's beauty and Lizzie's fire. She was a quiet child, and this quiet nature somehow transformed into petulance and over inflated self-importance once she reached her teenage years.

And lastly, (thanks impart to a faulty diaphragm) came identical twins Lydia and Kit. The youngest and therefore most spoiled members of the family, they inherited their mother's ridiculous nature. Lydia, the more domineering of the two, was incredibly flighty and about as deep as a wading pool – but what she lacked in smarts, and wits, and all of that 'unimportant' crap, she made up for with big boobs and legs that wouldn't quit and despite her age, she knew how to work her 'assets'. Kit, was all too happy to follow her little sister's lead (she was approximately five minutes older than Lydia), and to this day the existence of Kit's own personality was questionable and getting a glimpse of it was quite like spotting Big Foot.

**xx**

Darcy ran over the Bennet family's stats in his mind; every quirk, every like and dislike, every single sentence that was printed in his little, red folder. His overzealousness had less to do with a desire to impress the future 'in-laws' and more to do with a struggle to keep himself sane.

For, you see, Darcy had been trapped in Charlie's ozone killing Escalade for twenty-two minutes. Sure, it only takes twenty-eight minutes to get to Reseda from LA, but when your pretend fiancé is still choosing glaring daggers at you over speaking, your best friend's pushy (and much too grabby) older sister is along for the ride for the sole purpose of feeling you up in the backseat and pissing off your _already_ pissed off pretend fiancé, and your best friend refuses to listen to anything but the Top-40 radio station thus subjecting you to that goddamn 'Lips of an Angel' song every five minutes, a twenty-eight minute trip can feel like an eternity and you can't help but want to kill yourself and take the entire world with you in the process.

He was never as happy as he was when Charlie rounded the corner and the sight of the Bennet home at the end of the cul-de-sac came into view. Of course, judging by the amount of vehicles parked on the side of the road and in the front yard, Darcy was leaving one special brand of hell for another.

"Lizzie, you wanna help me grab those bags out of the trunk?" Jane, who had been a virtual mute the entire trip, spoke hastily to her sister as the party unloaded from the SUV. She didn't give Lizzie time to protest and dragged her to the vehicle's rear.

"Darcy and I can grab those, Janie," Charlie said in protest, but Jane waved him off.

"No, you guys go ahead; we'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure?"

"Will you c'mon, Charles?" Caroline groaned in exasperation, clutching her lone contribution to the cookout – a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.

Giving Jane and Lizzie a sheepish smile, Charlie reluctantly turned away and headed for the Bennet's backyard along with Darcy and Caroline leaving the sisters alone.

Lizzie cocked an eyebrow as Jane plopped a cheesecake into her waiting arms. "Something on your mind?"

"I think you should go easy on Darcy today," Jane told her quietly.

That got a scoff in response. "Are you kidding me? I _did_ tell you what he said, right…?"

A nod, "Yes, you told me…you acted it out and everything."

"And, I _did_ tell you about the standing me up for my appointment and the fact he chose to break an engagement story to _People_ without a) telling me beforehand, and b) actually proposing to me like we agreed?"

"Yes, Lizzie, I know all of that," Jane began with a sigh, "but…"

"There are no 'buts', Jane! The man's a complete jackass and I think I've been going pretty easy on him considering."

"But…" Jane attempted again, casting a sympathetic look in the direction of the house, "he looks so miserable."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "He _always_ looks miserable."

"I honestly think he feels bad and maybe he's just crap at apologizing. He could use a little encouragement from your end." She grinned, "Especially since he has to put up with mom and Caroline in the same evening. The two of you have to support each other – you're only contractually bound for twenty months, but you'll always be a part of one another's lives." Jane shrugged, "Besides, how bad can Darcy really be if he has Charlie for a best friend?"

Lizzie's lip quirked upward, "And I _did_ tell you what he did to Danny, right?"

Jane frowned. "I dunno, Lizzie, you don't really know Danny that well and there's always two sides to a story."

"Yeah, well," Lizzie started as she balanced the cake in one hand and slammed the trunk closed with the other, "I don't know Darcy, either."

* * *

The loud, excited chatter from the Bennets (Mrs. Bennet in particular) and their guests came to a screeching halt the moment the privacy fence door swung open and Darcy, Caroline, and Charlie appeared.

It was as if the three of them possessed a giant freeze ray or the power to stop time; Darcy pulled a face as he noticed a glob of ketchup slide out from between the hamburger bun and land directly on the shirt of a little boy who had stopped eating in order to stare at him open-mouthed.

Once Lizzie and Jane arrived on site the spell was broken and all returned to normal.

The second thing Darcy noticed was a middle-aged woman charging in his direction; the sound barrier breaking scream that erupted from her tiny frame sent a chill down his spine.

Oh no…

She couldn't _possibly_ be…

"LIZZIE! OH, MY BABY GIRL!"

His, future mother-in-law.

"Hey, mama." Lizzie skillfully held the cake above her head while her mother pulled her into a crushing bear hug.

All of the color drained from his cheeks as Darcy got a good look at the grandmother of his child – his attention focusing solely on her very loud, and very tight sweatpants with the word "Juicy" scrawled across the backside.

Screwing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger,

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

* * *

_So, school's kicking my ass right now. How is it for everyone else? _

_I'm really excited for the next chapter, I get to write all of the Bennets (they're a wacky bunch) and there will be some drunken antics (who, doesn't love drunken antics?). _

_Oh, and Mrs. Bennet is totally one of those 'cool' moms. I figured a modern version of her would be more akin to one of those sad MILF types – mostly cause it makes me laugh. _

_I don't know why I'm rambling. Review if you feel like it. _


	14. Into You Like a Train Pt 2

_**Into You Like a Train**_

_**Part Two**_

To say Frannie Bennet was a proud mama would be an enormous understatement. When she was a young girl, she dreamed of the day she'd grow up and marry a filthy rich man and live a fabulous and filthy rich life; but, once she finally reached adulthood and the ripe age to marry, she went and fucked it up by marrying for love, and instead of a fabulous, filthy rich life, Fran was living in unremarkable (though happy) middle class squalor. Then, by the grace of god she was given five beautiful daughters, thus allowing her five beautiful opportunities to become a mother-in-law to a fabulously wealthy son.

Naturally, with Jane's beauty, Frannie figured her eldest would be the first to snare such a man unfortunately, Jane had been too focused on working side-by-side with the opposite sex to bed them. But, it was her Elizabeth, a complete dark horse in the competition, who came out the winner. Honestly, she'd never seen it coming; Lizzie was always so opinionated and smart ass-y and really, what man worth a damn wanted a woman who would bust his precious balls on a daily basis?

Frannie didn't know how she did it, or cared how she did it, all that mattered was her baby girl was going to be Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and the hags in her spin class were going to explode when she told them the news.

Fran hugged Lizzie tightly and suddenly pulled back startled, "You're coming to spin class with me next week, missy. Honestly, Lizzie, you can't gain weight at a time like this! Save the chubs until after he's put the ring on your finger," she told Lizzie loudly.

Jane blanched. "Mama!"

The sound of Caroline Bingley's snort made Lizzie pray for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. It didn't. And she was left standing there to deal with her complete and utter embarrassment. "It's so good to see you, too, mom," she said, teeth clenched.

"And, Janie, you're looking as beautiful as ever," Fran exclaimed, quickly embracing her eldest, before turning her attention on the three strangers. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" she asked her daughters.

With a small sigh, Lizzie began, "Mom, this is Charles Bingley, Charles's sister, Caroline, and of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"It's so nice to finally meet you all!" Facing Caroline, Fran added, "What a gorgeous outfit!"

Caroline smirked. "Thanks, your's is something else. I don't think I've ever seen pants like that."

"Adorable, aren't they?" Fran turned around to show off her 'juicy' backside. "I've got a few more pairs…there was an unbelievable sale on 's clothing line in Macy's, so I snatched them up."

Caroline's smile grew wider. "I hate I missed that."

"It's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Bennet," Charlie, ever the white knight, cut in to hopefully save the Bennet girls a bit of face. "Thanks for inviting us."

Fran gave Charlie a once over and smiled knowingly. "Well, aren't you just the cutest thing. Are you single? You know, Jane's single…"

Charlie blushed. "I, uh…"

"What do you do for a living, Charles?"

"I'm a lawyer…"

"Well, fancy that, so is Jane! Jane, did you know Charles was a lawyer?"

Jane smiled sheepishly while Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, mom, I know," Jane stammered.

"And you're always going on and on about there not being any good looking men in your profession and here's one staring you right in the face." Fran took the opportunity to pinch Charlie's cheek. "You are too cute, you know."

Charlie was beet red. "Thank you."

When Mrs. Bennet's eyes landed upon him, Darcy could feel a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck and drip all the way down his spine. If this woman even thought about pinching his cheeks, he'd remove every finger on her hand with his teeth.

In an instant he was pulled into the tightest hug – it was like being squeezed to death by a boa constrictor (which at this point he would have gladly welcomed). A bit stunned from the unwelcome show of affection, all Darcy could do was blink as Mrs. Bennet rambled on.

"I can't tell you how good it is to finally meet you, Fitzwilliam! That name's kind of a mouthful, isn't it?" Frannie laughed. "Bet you took a beating for that one on the playground."

Darcy made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

"Do you go by anything else, dear?" Frannie asked. "Fitzwilliam is so formal and we're going to be family."

"Just call him, Fitzie mom," Lizzie eagerly supplied, her smile growing to mammoth proportions off of Darcy's glare.

"Fitzie…" Frannie said the name as if she were chewing it over, "hmm, your father will _love_ that. Speaking of, my husband and my other daughters ran off to the store to get more supplies." Leaning in towards Darcy, her voice dropped just above a whisper, "The Forester's have only been here for an hour and we're already running low on booze. I swear to god, if you as so much as lit a match next to April Forester she'd catch afire, she's so soaked in Bacardi."

Darcy's eyes widened at that.

* * *

Mrs. Bennet was a force to be reckoned with – a loud, obnoxious, gossiping force, who for some reason felt the need to tell Darcy the deep, dark secrets of every friend and neighbor in attendance. In addition to Mrs. Forester's love of liquor, Darcy now knew Mr. Forester was impotent, that the Bilsons from across the street's son was a panty sniffer, the Baxters from the next block over were totally growing pot in their downstairs closet, and Mr. Knightly from next door had a penchant for pretty, young men – and, his wife was none the wiser.

He watched the Bennet twins sneak Smirnoff Ice's when they thought no one was looking, and his hopes for Mary Bennet were dashed to bits when after spotting her Bring Me the Horizon T-Shirt, he asked if she were a death metal fan and all she wanted to do was talk about how the lead singer of the band on her top needed to go back to flat-ironing his hair.

All, was not completely lost however, there was still Mr. Bennet – or Sean, as he insisted on being called. Sean was a surprisingly quiet man, but the few words he did speak, were dripping with wit and a charming sense of whimsy. It was clear he was responsible for Lizzie's sharp tongue, and Darcy found he loved watching the two interact.

When the amount of guests had sufficiently dwindled, Sean took the opportunity to slip inside the house and return with a very dangerous looking bottle of whiskey.

Said bottle was ceremoniously plopped down in front of Darcy and Bingley, and Mr. Bennet took his seat across from the younger men, with a grin playing across his lips.

"Oh, Pappa, you can't be serious," Lizzie exclaimed with a roll of her eyes. "I know senility is common at your age, but Jane and I aren't sixteen anymore…remember," she teased, making sure to drag her words out as if she were speaking to an Alzheimer's patient.

Charles managed to look very much like a nervous puppy and he was quite lucky Mrs. Bennet was busy elsewhere at that moment, or his cheeks would have been in serious danger of a pinching. "What? I don't get it."

Sean began to explain as he reached for the whiskey bottle and filled a couple of shot glasses, "I find alcohol is a great truth cerium and the more you drink the clearer your intentions become." He leered at Darcy, setting a shot glass in front of him. "I like to test this theory on my daughter's boyfriends."

Lizzie chuckled. "Honestly, he just wants to see you completely pissed; sadistic, old bastard."

"It's for your own good, you ungrateful slag," Sean told her with a brilliant smile. Facing Charles and Darcy once again, he said, "You see, it never fails." Giving Lizzie a quick once over, he turned back to Darcy and added, "Oh, she's nervous, she must really like you, then."

"I hope so," Darcy replied flatly.

"You know, sometimes it's not a good idea to tune out mom," Lizzie chastised her father, "as few and far in between as they may be."

"Who says I tune your mum out? If I did, I wouldn't know that the Bilson's boy likes to paw through his sister's delicates."

Darcy mumbled, "Unfortunately, I know that, too."

Sean laughed heartily.

"Darcy and I are engaged; I _know_ mom told you…"

"Engaged?" The elder Bennet's dark eyes widened with mock surprise and he inched the drink closer to Darcy's hands. "I don't remember consenting to any engagement."

With a sideways glance at Charlie, Darcy threw back the strong liquor and attempted to ignore the burning in his throat. Even though he felt he had a good grasp on Mr. Bennet's sense of humor, he was inexplicably nervous, but forced the sentence, "Must be that senility thing working against you," out of his mouth.

Those nerves were greatly eased, however, by the snort that escaped Lizzie's mouth and the genuine smile on her face.

* * *

"You incredible, stupid, ass…!"

It was well known in their circle of privileged friends, that when it came to alcohol, Charles Bingley was the champion of lightweights. Though he indulged from time to time, he was admittedly, never a big drinker, thus it only took one Zima (or something equally as embarrassing and fruity) to make him a complete and total goner.

Thus, Papa Bennet's strange bottle of foreign whiskey had left poor Mr. Bingley utterly pissed after just two shots.

Caroline's fists were clinched as she verbally tore into her brother. "You were the driver, Charles! How the hell do you expect me to get home?!"

"You're all more than welcome to stay the night if you've had too much to drink," Sean said offhandedly as he took a drink himself. "The living room couch is quite comfy."

Ignoring Mr. Bennet, Caroline leaned in to Charlie and hissed in his ear, "I'm not staying here with _these _people and I'm definitely not sleeping on their couch!"

Charlie picked his head up off of the table with a low, drunken groan and looked at the icy blonde through half-lidded eyes. "Goddamn, Caroline, for once I wish you would chill," he slurred. "Everybody else is chill. Darcy, are you chill?"

"Very," Darcy told him dryly.

"Lizzie, how 'bout you?"

"Like an iceberg, Charlie," she let him know with a snicker.

"And, I know, Sean is chill…."

"Damn straight, lad."

"See, Caroline. Everybody here knows how to chill, but you." He gestured widely to everyone at the picnic table. "All I wanna do is hang with my girl and my friends; why you gotta hate?"

One of Caroline's perfectly plucked eyebrows quirked upward. "Chill? Hate? Okay, who the hell are you, 50 Cent?!" Exasperated, she made a point to huff and stamp her feet. "Screw you all, I'm calling a cab!"

Glowing like a kid on Christmas, Lizzie exclaimed as she watched Caroline's backside hurry toward the house, "I know you're not going to remember this in the morning, Charlie, but, god bless you."

Eyes sparkling, Sean asked, "Have you boys got one more left in you?"

Sean's little 'theory' had been put to the test by firing a round of questions to Darcy and Charlie, after which they had to take a drink. They ranged from standard ridiculousness ("If you were on an island and could only take three things, what would they be?") to complete and total fuckery ("Would you tattoo Spongebob Squarepants on your ass?"). Somewhere around the time Charlie stopped being able to be completely coherent without throwing around pathetically out-of-date slang terms, Sean's questions became a shade more personal.

With Caroline making such a fuss, Mrs. Bennet, Kit, and Lydia dropped kitchen cleanup duty at once to bolt out of the house and into the backyard to see what had caused it all. Jane reluctantly followed at their heels, and even Mary poked her head out of her bedroom for a nanosecond before deciding it wasn't worth her time.

"Sean, what in god's name did you do to Caroline Bingley?!" Frannie screeched.

Mr. Bennet gazed up at his wife with a wicked smile. "She didn't know how to chill."

"Oh, fuck me! Dad's been grilling Fitzie and Charles and we totally missed it!" Lydia whined as she flopped down next to Lizzie on the bench.

Frannie glared. "Lydia Marie, you watch your language! People are going to think you don't have an ounce of goddamn class if you keep talking that way!"

"And, please, don't call me 'Fitzie'." Darcy grimaced and Lizzie giggled loudly.

"How did you answer the Spongebob Question, Fitzie?" Kit asked him eagerly. "I think I'd do it…"

Lydia snickered. "Yeah, cause, no one's ever gonna see you naked."

Kit shot her a bird in response.

"Are you alright, Charlie?" Jane had sat down beside him and slipped an arm around his slumped shoulders. There was a muffled moan from Charles, whose head was busy getting acquainted with the table once again. Heaving a great sigh, Jane frowned disappointingly at her father. "Daddy, was this really necessary? Honestly?"

Staring directly at Darcy, Sean asked once more, "So how 'bout it, mate? One last question?"

With the eyes of the entire Bennet clan upon him, Darcy took a deep breath and reached for the bottle of liquor, refilling his own shot glass. "Yeah, I can do one more," he said calmly.

Fingers tented, Sean was the very picture of seriousness. "You're an incredibly wealthy, handsome young man. You can have any woman in the world – I've seen the pictures of you with Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan. So, what made my daughter so special? What could have possibly attracted a jet-setting trust fund boy to a middle class waitress?"

The table was deathly silent, but despite the tense atmosphere, Darcy was strangely the picture of serenity as he downed his liquor. "I can honestly say I've never met anyone like Lizzie before. The women I used to date were completely meek – scarily so; it was like they couldn't have an opinion of their own or an interest of their own, it was always about me. Pleasing me. What movie do _I_ want to see, what restaurant do _I _want to have dinner at, what position in bed am _I_ in the mood for – let me tell you, it's the most fucking boring thing imaginable being with a woman who has no personality of her own so she's trying to adopt yours. I mean, I like me just fine most of the time, but I don't wanna date me, and I don't get that with Lizzie."

Running a hand through his dark hair, Darcy chose to forego the shot glass altogether and took a drink straight from the bottle. "Lizzie is the most difficult, stubborn, opinionated, little brat I've ever met, and I wouldn't want her to be any other way. But, I have to be honest and say, that before I knew all of this, Mr. Bennet, I was attracted to your daughter's eyes; she has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

The Bennet women gazed upon Darcy, slightly slack-jawed and a wee bit stupefied (even Charlie lifted his big, drunken head in amazement over what he'd just heard). It was a full minute before Lydia took it upon herself to break the silence like only she could,

"Jesus-shit, if you don't marry him, Lizzie, I definitely will!"

* * *

"Oh, please don't! I'm begging you…seriously, put that thing away…!"

When the decision to pack it in for the night was made, and Charlie had been sufficiently carried to the nearest bathroom to be taken care of by Jane, Lizzie and Darcy came to the conclusion that they should just stay the night at the Bennet house, since two out of the three licensed drivers had become best friends with Green Spot whiskey (and the other was busy playing nursemaid).

It was the best news Fran could have possibly been given (outside of her legs being ripe and ready for next year's shorts season, that is). Fitzwilliam Darcy, her son-in-law to be, was spending the night in _her_ house. Her daughter had really done it. It wasn't a dream. And somehow her elation over this fact, translated into her wanting to show Darcy every last bit of embarrassing film Lizzie had ever been captured on. At the moment, she was trying to work the tape of Lizzie's performance in Guys and Dolls from her senior year of high school, into the VCR, but Fran's determined offspring was having none of that:

"C'mon, Lizzie! There's nothing to be shy about, you were very good," Fran said frowning as she tried to maneuver around Lizzie's hands.

"He's not interested in seeing it mom," she whined, "and honestly, who could blame him."

"I'd love to see it." It was the utter lack of sarcasm in his voice that gave Lizzie pause, thus opening up the opportunity for Fran to stuff the tape into the waiting mouth of the machine.

"See," Fran began with a smile, "he _wants_ to see it, Lizzie. You'll love it, Fitzie, she's extremely talented – I don't know why she's content with working at that Friday's when she could be off starring in movies."

Lizzie pouted and flopped down on the couch next to Darcy. "If I could land a starring role in a movie, I wouldn't _be_ working at Friday's," she muttered dejectedly.

The instant Fran queued up Lizzie singing 'Adelaide's Lament' Lizzie buried her face in Darcy's shoulder with a mortified groan. "Tell her to make it stop. She'll listen to you."

But, Darcy was too enamored by what was taking place on screen to give into Lizzie's pitiful request. Mrs. Bennet was wrong, Elizabeth wasn't 'very good', she was _fantastic_; she absolutely commanded his attention – every look, every motion, every note…he was spellbound.

Fran was positively beaming. "See, I told you she was good."

At the sound of the last note of the song, Lizzie picked her head up and met eyes with a smiling Darcy. "She has to say it was good, she birthed me."

"Oh, I do not," Fran snapped and stood up to head in the direction of the kitchen. "If it was complete crap, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you so."

"What about me?" Darcy asked, softly. "I definitely didn't 'birth' you; I can be totally honest."

She winced. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad did I suck?"

He tapped his chin as if in deep thought. "Hmm…I'd say it was about a zero, possibly a negative one."

Lizzie's eyes bulged at that. "I suck in negative numbers now?!"

"No, Lizzie," he laughed, "you didn't suck. In fact, it was the direct opposite of sucking. You were amazing."

Maybe it was the fault of the adorable blush that crept across her cheeks, or perhaps it was the belly full of Ireland's best booze that was handling the driving of his internal motor. Whatever the cause, Darcy ended up pressing his lips to hers, and after the initial jolt had coursed through his entire body, he properly came to his senses,

"Oh, god! I'm so sorr…"

Before the apology could even make it fully out of his mouth, Lizzie pulled him back in for a bruising kiss. Lips fumbled heatedly over one another's and it was the gentle coaxing of a tongue that finally broke the two apart. Panting slightly, her forehead resting against his, Lizzie whispered, "My, mom…"

"Huh?" Darcy managed, puzzled as ever.

"My, mom," she repeated, still breathing a bit heavily, "I spotted her over your shoulder coming out of the kitchen. I couldn't let you apologize for kissing me in front of her. Sorry about the lack of warning, I didn't know what else to do."

"Oh, yeah?" He pulled back from her, a thin smile on his lips. "Good show."

There was no question it was entirely the fault of Green Spot and their stupid, fucking whiskey, because at that moment, Darcy felt his heart sink, and that was the only explanation he would allow his head to consider.


	15. In the Morning and Amazing

_Something short and sweet to tie you over until the next full update._

_**In the Morning and Amazing**_

_5 Very Good Reasons Why I Should Not Roll Over_

_By Will Darcy_

_1) I will puke. _

_2) Puking is not a possibility; it's a fact. _

_3) Mrs. Bennet wouldn't enjoy washing puke stained sheets._

_4) The pizza/orange juice taste._

_5) See the above. _

Darcy lay very still, afraid to even breathe. The dangerous churning in his stomach combined with the rush of saliva in his mouth made him incredibly nervous; it was the sort of nervous that came with silent prayers to god to stave off the sickness and the promise of never drinking again (the ones that rarely work). Daringly, he took a deep breath and was pleasantly surprised to find his nostrils filled with the scent of…_strawberries_?

He cracked an eye open and was faced with a mess of red hair. Lizzie was comfortably curled up against his stomach, sleeping soundly, while his arm was draped lazily over her waist.

The situation made him smile, which was apparently more movement than his stomach could handle, because in an instant his cheeks puffed out and he was forced to whip around and lean off the edge of the bed.

Good thing the floor was of the non-carpeted, hardwood variety.

* * *

On his return trip to the kitchen, vomit soaked paper towels in hand, Darcy found Mr. Bennet quietly sipping coffee at the breakfast table. Nodding in Sean's direction, he quickly tossed the evidence of his sick in the trash.

"How're ya feeling?" Sean asked amusement evident in his voice.

"Like total shit," Darcy told him as he reached for the pot of coffee.

"Good, means you had fun," he said smiling and added with a shake of his head, "Uh-uh, put that down and grab one of those beers out of the fridge, mate; best thing for a hangover is a little more alcohol."

Reluctantly, Darcy did as told before pulling out a chair of his own. He quirked a brow, "Are you sure? I've already swore I'd never drink again – kinda sad to break a promise five minutes later."

Sean chuckled, "He'll forgive you, it's in his nature; and who knows better about these sort things than an Irishman?"

Popping the top on the can of Budweiser, Darcy smirked. "Isn't that a stereotype?"

He nodded, "One that several members of my family are eager to prove true."

An awkward silence fell between the two and strangely, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the undisputed king of awkward silences, found, himself eager to get rid of it. Furiously wracking his pounding head, he blurted the first thing that came to mind, "So, what was Lizzie like as a child?"

Sean smiled to himself. "A little terror in the best sense," he said fondly. "Jane was so sweet and well-behaved that Frannie and I stupidly believed Lizzie would be the same way; Lizard was always finding new ways to get into trouble."

"Lizard?" Darcy grinned.

"Use that nickname cautiously, boy; very few of us can get away with it," Sean snickered. He began, taking a drink from the mug in his hands, "I distinctly remember her going through a 'clothing optional' phase at around five years old. It horrified her mother, but made dinner parties infinitely more enjoyable. There was also a time when we were only allowed to call her 'Donatello'…"

"She liked art at that young of an age?"

"No," he chortled, "she liked the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

"Oh," Darcy smiled.

"Watching my Lizzie grow up was terribly fun, but as much as I miss having that little girl running around, I think I enjoy the adult she's become even more. When you're a parent, there's an odd transition from having a child nipping at your heels, to having a friend who happens to share half of your genetic makeup. Believe, me, it's a bit daunting when your kid goes from asking to play horsey on your knee, to betting she can drink you under the table."

That got a laugh. "Does she really?"

A smile, "Aye, she tries, bless her. It's an ongoing bet between the two of us." Sean paused, a wistful look on his face. "Needless to say, I was a wee bit surprised last night when she didn't challenge me – or touch a drop of alcohol."

Unluckily, Darcy was in mid swallow when Sean spoke that last sentence; the poor boy choked, inhaling beer up his nose. Swiftly climbing to his feet, Sean patted him on the back.

When he had his bearings back, Darcy arose a bit unsteadily. "I, uh, should really go and take care of this dead cat taste in my mouth."

"Right."

"Thanks for the tip about the beer; I feel a lot better now."

* * *

"I didn't expect to see you up so early," Lizzie cheerily greeted when Darcy stepped into the bedroom. "Any particular reason why my room smells like Pine-Sol?"

He pulled a face. "Be glad that's the smell you woke up to."

As she laughed, Darcy attempted to push the thoughts of how good she looked lying lazily in bed in his button up shirt to the far corners of his mind, and crawled up beside her with a sigh. He most _definitely_ wasn't ready to go there.

"Any sign of Charlie and Jane?"

"No," he shook his head, "just your father. I have an eerie feeling he was waiting up for me; he looked damn proud when he saw me with those cleaning supplies."

Lizzie snickered, "I told you he's a sadistic, old bastard."

"I found out some interesting things about you, Lizard," Darcy smiled, "or should I say 'Donatello'?"

Groaning loudly, she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, goddamn."

Laughing, he asked, "Which name do you prefer?"

"Whichever floats your boat, Fitzie."

He grimaced. "Okay, okay how about we put a moratorium on all embarrassing nicknames?"

"Deal." She giggled.

After hesitating for nearly an entire five minutes, Darcy finally said, "Lizzie, I owe you an apology. What happened in New Hampshire…I was stupid and angry with Georgiana. It still doesn't excuse the things I said, but my mouth likes to work independently of my brain, or so Charlie says, and I didn't mean to insult you." He ran a nervous hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. "Also, I didn't forget about your doctors appointment – I mean, I did forget, momentarily, because I was in meeting after meeting that day…and I did call your work, but they told me you'd already gone, and I…I'm just a sorry sack of shit I guess."

Lizzie was quiet – too quiet, and Darcy's heart pounded loudly in his eardrums.

Suddenly, she extended her hand. "Truce?" she asked with a lopsided grin.

Completely relieved, he put his hand in hers. "Truce; oh," Darcy sprung to his feet, "I almost forgot. I've got one more thing to make up to you. I planned on doing this last night, but, you know…" he made a drinking motion and she sniggered.

Rounding the bed, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Close your eyes." Lizzie gave him a look and he sighed in mock exasperation, "Please?"

When she complied with his wishes, he pulled his hands out once again and held up two fists in front of her. "You can open them now."

"Surprise, you can make a fist?" she asked sarcastically.

He shrugged, his reply equally as quick, "I thought you'd be impressed," he told her wryly. "But, no – really, pick one."

Lizzie blinked, unsurely. "Um…the left one?"

He cocked his head. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

She rolled her eyes. "The left one, smart ass."

Darcy's right hand immediately went back into his pocket and his left opened up to reveal a beautiful ring: a diamond set between two sapphires.

Lizzie audibly gasped at the sight, and Darcy, enjoying the look on her face, took the opportunity to get down on one knee.

"Elizabeth Bennet, will you begrudgingly marry me?" he asked unable to help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

Breaking the stupor the sight of a Tiffany & Co. band temporarily put her in, Lizzie's face broke out in a huge grin and she finally answered, "I believe my name on the dotted line makes that a 'yes', Mr. Darcy."

* * *

_Aw, they called a truce, they're getting along – we'll see how long that lasts. _

_Isn't it weird how puke always tastes like pizza and orange juice coming up? Or maybe that's just me…_

_Yes, Sean Bennet is as wise as you **think** he is. _

_One useless piece of information about this fic I have for you; the chapter titles from Fitzwilliam, It Was Really Nothing on are all song titles. I'm trying to keep that going till the very end. Google and download if you're curious and want some new tunes. _

_Someone asked me why Lizzie is unlicensed – well, it's because she really enjoys walking. Okay, that's bullshit, well, it's not bullshit that she enjoys walking, I just have an idea for a future scene involving her, Darcy, and some driving lessons. _

_I love you guys and your reviews, keep them coming. _


	16. Red Right Hand

_You know what this story needs? More Wickham! I am appalled at the lack of requests on the subject. Simply appalled. :) _

_**Red Right Hand**_

His day always started promptly at seven thirty a.m.:

One hundred crunches were completed by exactly eight o'clock.

Fifty push-ups followed up with thirty revolutions of the jump rope were finished around eight forty-five.

A plate of bacon and a protein shake were downed before the nine o'clock mark; his shower and shave accomplished some forty minutes later and you could expect the sound of his little Ford Focus cranking up to ring out over the sleepy West Hollywood street his apartment was located on at ten o'clock on the dot.

For a man who was scheduled every week for the evening shift at TGI Friday's, Daniel Wickham started his day curiously early; you see there was one tiny detail he'd conveniently forgotten to mention on his Friday's application – he had a second job.

"Morning, Danny." The security guard beamed as he leaned out of his booth to give Wickham's badge the once over.

"Morning, Phil," Wickham replied cheerily. "How was your weekend?"

Phil gave him a look that suggested worlds of naughty things and said with a laugh, "Exhausting. Did you know it's not a great idea to spend three days getting completely shit-faced in Vegas when you have to be to work at five Monday morning?"

Daniel grinned. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," the guard nodded, "if they spring a drug test on us in the next couple weeks, I'm screwed." With a flip of the gate switch, he added, "You have a good one. Don't work too hard."

"I never do."

As the elevator doors opened to reveal the sprawling tenth floor of the E! News headquarters, Wickham exhaled a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Truthfully, it felt as though it had taken him a good twenty years to get to this point in his career; after the Darcy funds stopped, well – _funding_ his college education, he thought for sure his dream of dishing celebrity dirt with the best in the business was dead in the water. He had been approximately twenty-two credits away from graduating USC's journalism program when Fitzie the Fuck Head had seen it fit to pull all of the money old, Mr. Darcy (god rest his soul) had been pumping into the school. No financial backing meant, no shiny degree, and Wickham was unceremoniously left to his own devices. So, he did the only thing he knew how – he slept with all the right people.

A few dates and some frenzied heavy-petting sessions in the back of a Toyota Prius led to his scoring a job as a lacky in E!'s mailroom. Months later, it was his flirty smile and persuasive lie about his curiosity in same-sex relationships that landed him a special internship in the production department. The securing of his current opportunity, however, surprisingly had little to do with his penis, and more to do with who he knew:

Wickham rolled his eyes at the sight of the toad-like, balding, little man who greeted him behind the office doors. "I don't have time for you; where's, Anne?"

"That's funny," Toad-Man grunted and pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, "Ms. De Bourgh said the same about you just five minutes ago. She's far too busy with actual important matters to waste her time on an intern." He paused, dislike shining in his eyes, "No matter how well _connected_ that intern may be. We've just gotten word that Brad and Angie, are continuing their 'we are the world' adoption program; she's de-boarding a plane in some sweltering African country as we speak."

With a shake of his head, Wickham pushed past the beady-eyed frog in the ill-fitting Brooks Brothers suit and casually took a seat in a nearby chair. "This is much more interesting than some lucky, little, third-world bastard, Billy. Anne is gonna want to hear what I have to say, trust me."

Closing the door, Bill Collins eyed him pointedly. "Ms. De Bourgh instructed me personally, to inform you that she does not…"

"It's a bit of business involving her beloved cousin, Darcy, I think she'd _love_ to hear," Wickham cut him off. "Would you really want to be responsible for causing your highly esteemed employer to miss out on the chance to break a huge piece of juicy gossip?" Smarmy look on his face, he lifted his perfectly formed ass out of the chair to be able to grip the cell phone that was stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans. "You know, on second thought, Collins, I think this is better suited for Perez Hilton and his people…"

"No, no, no!" He made a dive for Wickham's phone. "Ms. De Bourgh would die if she lost another scoop to that two-bit internet queen!" Off of Wickham's satisfied smile, the squat man attempted to regain his composure. Absently smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit, Collins cleared his throat, "I'll give her a call."

* * *

"A merger with Darcy Media can only mean good things, gentlemen. It'll assure you more money for advertisement, our web designers will be able to smooth over those problems with content loading, and of course, you'll be better equipped to handle any ridiculous copy-right lawsuits that may come your way…" 

Two, pimply-faced teenage boys, who looked as if they had never seen light outside of their parent's respective basements, exchanged uncertain looks; with a taut smile, Denny Henson glanced to his right – the signal for Darcy to jump in and work his deal closer magic.

But no magic came.

No convincing spiel about how the two nerds in front of them could be up to their eyeballs in Yu-Gi-Oh cards and Cortana nudes if they sold their user-generated video website to the slick, corporate minds at Darcy Media was uttered.

No rabbits were pulled out of hats; no stunning bullet catches were performed.

That son-of-a-bitch didn't even bother to grunt.

Instead, Darcy's attention seemed to be solely on the window, and the small, curly-haired child who was busy making fish faces at them from the sidewalk.

Denny politely cleared his throat and took a sip of his Jack and Coke. "Darcy, anything you want to say? Maybe ease Brain and Paul's minds a bit…"

Turning away from the little girl's imitation of a monkey, Darcy's gaze traveled from his colleague to the teens, and without a single word, he got up from the table leaving Denny to gape at his retreating form.

A hollow chuckle escaped his lips as Denny attempted to appear cool and stave off the desire to kill his employer. "Now, about this contract…"

But the internet millionaires were focused on the sidewalk outside where Fitzwilliam Darcy had suddenly appeared, scooping the girl up and whisking her away. Poor Denny downed the rest of his alcohol while trying to think of a way to make the situation seem a little less like a Dateline story.

Once again, the teens exchanged worried looks before one said, his voice squeaking, "Did we just witness a kidnapping?"

Darcy nodded ever-so politely at the giggling kid bundled in his arms. "Good afternoon, Cousin Daisy."

"Good afternoon, Cousin Darcy," she replied just as graciously.

"Now, where is your daddy?"

Daisy shook her head emphatically, her blonde curls bouncing as she did so. "Daddy said if I don't tell you where he is, I can have Del Taco for lunch."

He gave her a sideways look. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded.

"Well…," Darcy began screwing up his face as if deep in thought, "if you tell me where your daddy is hiding out, I'll not only make sure he takes you to Del Taco, but I'll buy you two Bratz dolls."

Her green eyes lit up instantly and Daisy wasted no time pointing out the conspicuous man hiding behind a Maxium magazine on a bench across the street.

"You're my favorite cousin," Darcy told her planting a kiss on her rosy cheek.

A great sigh escaped his lips as he heard his daughter loudly exclaiming how jealous her sister would be of her new dolls, and he knew the jig was up; he had been sold out by his own flesh and blood, the fruit of his loins, and all for the promise of a plastic, baby prostitute with a giant head.

Richard hazarded a peek over the top of his magazine and was greeted by his smirking cousin.

"I found this lurking outside of La Sernenata," Darcy said trying to keep a wiggling Daisy secure in his outstretched arms. "She says she belongs to you."

Dramatically giving the girl the once over, Richard returned his eyes to the magazine in hand. "I've never seen this little traitor in my life," he exclaimed without an ounce of seriousness in his voice.

"It's me, daddy; Daisy!" She pouted as Cousin Darcy gently put her down. "Don't you remember?"

"Hmm…" Richard tapped his chin, "Daisy…Daisy, that name sounds so familiar. I think I knew a Daisy once…"

Her little lip quivered.

"Yeah, come to think of it, the Daisy, I knew was about your height, and she had curly hair, and a very ticklish pumpkin belly." Daisy squealed in delight as her dad tickled her insistently. When he had succeeded in tiring the child out, Richard motioned for Darcy to take a seat.

Long before the posh likes of the Darcy bloodline had entered into the equation, there were the Fitzwilliam's who, were quite the pinnacle of Boston's stiff, upper crusty society. Patrick Fitzwilliam had three, daughters (who were all lovely in varying degrees), Catherine, Emma, and Roseland.

Catherine loved to make the most of her excellent family name and when the opportunity to marry an Earl presented itself, she wasted no time in jumping on it. Though her marriage to Edward De Bourgh could only be described as cold on a good day, it afforded her the luxury of still turning her nose up at lesser people, but this time with a title.

Emma, was impossibly sweet (and honestly, very lovely) and her love affair with Marcus Darcy was filled with the sort of genuine passion and mutual respect people envy (and they did, _envy_). It was a love that resulted in two beautiful children and in spite of a few rough patches, their ardor burned just as brightly as it had on their wedding day, when Emma succumbed to cancer some fifteen years later.

Lastly, there was Roseland, who defied her father's wishes and ran away with a drummer (from a now defunct, but once very popular Bon Jovi cover band). Her father turned out to be right, Nick Milligan was good for fucking nothing (if you didn't count screwing groupies), but he gave her, her son Richard, and that was something. Roseland's 'common-law wife' status, and the fact Nick was from Jersey, caused a rift in the Fitzwilliam clan; Patrick disowned her and Catherine refused to acknowledge her existence on the planet, but Emma remained close – making sure her own son grew up alongside his cousin, thus ensuring Fitzwilliam and Richard would come to see each other much more as brothers.

Emma and Marcus saw to it that Richard have the same education as their son, and were happy to shell out the money for him to attend the best private schools on the west coast. For many years the cousins were each other's main confidant, and go-to sounding board. When life threw a huge, world altering curve, Richard could always expect to hear from Darcy seconds after it occurred…or at least he _thought_ he could.

For, you see, Richard had heard about his cousin's latest girlfriend – not from his mouth, but from the filthy, frosted-tip likes of Ryan Seacrest, and his cousin's subsequent engagement from a fucking _People_ magazine.

Darcy gazed sheepishly down at his feet. "Dude, I meant to call you, really…"

"_Seacrest_, Darce. There's nothing you can say to make up for that." Richard held firm in his displeasure, despite the fact Darcy's uncomfortable wiggling threatened to bring a smile to his face.

"It's complicated," Darcy sighed heavily.

Richard cocked a brow. "Really? Cause, Seacrest made it sound so simple."

"Christ," Darcy shook his head, "did the guy piss in your cornflakes or something?"

"Daddy, you promised! You promised!" Daisy had started to jump up and down, her face screwed up in exasperation and her tiny fists balled at her sides. "I want Del Taco. I want Del Taco…"

"I think his part in unleashing _American Idol_ on the world is enough to justify my irrational hatred, and quit trying to change the subject. This is about you, and your phone Alzheimer's."

"Like I said," another sigh, "it's complicated."

"_I want Del Taco. I want Del Taco. I want…"_

"Well," Richard began as he watched his little girl fruitlessly try and hold her breath, "how 'bout you _un_-complicate it for me over a couple of Macho Tacos."

* * *

Though opting to skip out on the 'Macho Taco', Darcy did attempt to make his and Lizzie's situation a little, less complicated for his cousin; this proved to be more of a chore than he'd originally anticipated, what with Daisy's young and impressionable ears hanging about. 

Before, taking a huge bite of his taco, Richard extended it in Darcy's direction, receiving a revolted look in return. "Too good for Del Taco?" he asked, mouth full and clearly amused.

"Yes," Darcy replied simply.

Snickering, Richard got back to the topic at hand. "You didn't wear a con…" stopping himself immediately, he swallowed hard and cast a fleeting glance in Daisy's direction, "I, mean you didn't wear a raincoat?"

"That's just it," Darcy began with a sigh, "I don't remember. I remember meeting her and Charlotte, I remember inviting her back to my place, the taxi ride over, I even remember what songs I played for her, but I can't for the life of me, remember if I – uh, properly dressed for the weather."

Richard nodded, wearing a solemn expression. "So, it's safe to say you really know nothing about this woman?"

Darcy cocked his head suddenly feeling a need to be defensive. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"America's Number One Bachelor, ring any bells, Cuz?" Richard shrugged. "I'm just saying…"

"Lizzie's _not_ that kind of person."

Unbeknownst to Darcy and his naked eye, a devil was tap-dancing on his cousin's shoulder. It whispered irresistible nothings and attempted to lure him to the dark side with the assurance that the hours – hell, days of laughter he would gain out of the situation were well worth the price of his soul. It was Darcy's own fault for being so completely obvious; from the moment he opened his mouth to expound on the subject of one Elizabeth Bennet, it was clear he was harboring some very fuzzy feelings for the woman. The devil was quickly winning the battle and Richard was resigned to sign his name in blood – such was the lure of taking the piss out of Fitzwilliam.

Fingers brushing the strands of ginger-blonde hair away from his forehead, Richard grinned crookedly. "Is that what it says in her folder?"

Darcy glared. "Die in a fire."

That got a laugh. "C'mon, I'm serious…how much do you really know about Lizzie's past? Her dating history…" suddenly, he turned to his daughter who was busy making a smiley-face with her fries, "sweetie, cover your ears," when Daisy had enthusiastically cupped her hands over her ears, he continued, "that, baby could be anyone's. You're just the richest dumbass she could find."

Now, Richard knew very well that Darcy was the most discerning judge of character the world had ever seen, and if there was something even remotely fishy about Elizabeth, he would've jumped on it long ago and they're current discussion would've had more to do with lawsuits than nuptials. However, the devil had encouraged him to continue with this line of questioning, as it was causing the tiny vein in the middle of Darcy's forehead to dance.

Though his face remained cool as steel flames burned behind Darcy's eyes. "She's not – Daisy, _earmuffs_ – after my money, you cockass!"

"Did you just call me a 'cockass'?" The devil was now doing cartwheels.

"I'd think I'd know if I were being taken in, as many vultures as I've had to deal with, and Lizzie's absolutely unlike any woman I've ever met!" Darcy continued, ignoring Richard's comment. "Besides, oh-fucking-wise-one, Georgie adores her, and if there's anyone in my life that's hard to win over it's her. Eva never got so much as smile."

Richard shrugged. "That's because Eva's brand of evil is a dead giveaway, what with those snakes for hair and her ability to turn people into stone and all."

Darcy made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat.

"I'll just have to be the judge of Ms. Bennet since you're too far gone to do it yourself."

"And what the hell do you mean by 'too far gone'?!"

Mouth agape and hands on the table instead of covering her ears, Daisy looked up at Darcy, clearly scandalized. "Ooh, Cousin Darcy, you said '_hell_'."

* * *

Making sure to frown as dramatically as possible, Collins shoved his cell phone into Wickham's waiting hands. "Ms. De Bourgh has consented to speak to you," he said haughtily. 

Wickham grinned madly. "Annie! How are you this fine November afternoon? How's the weather in Africa?"

"How do you think it is? It's hot and I'm surrounded by flies bigger than my head; and I've told you a million times, don't call me 'Annie'," a polished, yet supremely annoyed voice replied from the other end of the line.

Anne De Bourgh spent the majority of her formative years confined to a hospital bed. She had been an unusually sickly child – allergic to damn near everything animal, vegetable, or mineral, as well as severely asthmatic. She could barely take two steps out of her own house without breaking out into hives or collapsing in a coughing fit. Her early unhealthy existence molded and shaped the spoiled and rotten adult she would ultimately become; for her mother had constantly doted on her, and before long, Anne's sense of self was wrapped up in a false sense of great importance. Though most of her illnesses subsided with time, Anne had become quite the hypochondriac: hand sanitizer was on her person at all times, she absolutely refused to come in contact with small children and dogs (in that order), anyone who sneezed or hinted that they might have to cough in her vicinity was promptly dragged away by her hulking bodyguard/umbrella carrier, Rolf, and she wouldn't be caught dead out on the open streets without a mask (the smog, the hobos, the pigeons, germs, germs, germs…).

She never exactly went to college (the possible threat of meningitis was just _too_ great), but that didn't matter, she was the offspring of Edward and Catherine De Bourgh and all she had to do was express an interest in any given field and they would make it happen. She'd tried fashion (the models were far too greasy), and acting (studio 9 on the Warner Brother's lot smelled strongly of onions and Chad Michael Murray made her itch), but it was journalism that ultimately called to her, and she proved to be quite good at it. Before long she was the head producer of E! News and was rapidly gaining a reputation as a cutthroat in the world of celebrity dirt.

"You've got one minute, Daniel," Anne barked and Wickham heard the distinct sound of a fly swatter crashing down on its prey. "Starting now."

"How can you be so flippant when I'm bringing you such a juicy piece of news?"

"56…55…" she counted down disinterestedly.

"Your dear, sweet cousin's humble fiancé is very much knocked up," he told her smugly.

"What? Why the fuck are you speaking in riddles? It's like I'm talking to Ted Casablanca." There was another loud smack, followed by a curse. "I swear to god, I'm going to get malaria…"

Wickham sighed. "Darcy's fiancé is pregnant and their wedding is totally shotgun," he told her plainly and was treated to a rather unmanly gasp from Collins' direction.

"What proof do you have?"

"I drove Lizzie to her doctor's appointment; she told me herself – what more do you need?"

"As truly special as your word is, Daniel, I need a little more than that to run a story. This isn't The Inquirer, I need baby bumps, pictures of this Lizzie stuffing down pre-natal vitamins or walking out of the office of an OB/GYN, she and Darcy shopping at Baby Gap, something physical!"

"But, I was told _firsthand_!" he said frustrated.

"Do you want a cookie?"

"And, I have reason to believe there's much more to this relationship than a baby – don't you think it's a little strange for Darcy, I mean, he was with Eva a full two years before he proposed and yet he and Lizzie…"

"I still need proof," Anne cut him off abruptly, "and your minute is up."

As he slammed the phone shut and stuffed it into the fat, little mitts of De Bourgh's assistant, Wickham silently vowed to do all he could to get to the bottom of Darcy and Lizzie's relationship.

* * *

_Author's Note: Yes, I'm still here. I never actually dropped off the face of the earth or abandoned this story, in fact this chapter sat half-written for a month because, well real life decided to kick my ass. My classes this quarter aren't affording me a lot of free time right now, but that'll all be over next month and hopefully I can make it up to you all. _

_You've got more Wickham to look forward to in the next installment (I know you're jumping for joy, dont' pretend). And, Richard…can't forget Richard. _

_Review, it's all I ask. _


	17. Jaws Theme Swimming Pt 1

_**Jaws Theme Swimming**_

**(Part One)**

When the moment Richard would meet the infamous Lizzie Bennet had finally arrived, it bore little resemblance to the scenario that had played through Darcy's mind: Lizzie greeting them impeccably dressed and armed with a killer smile and dazzling quick wit that would instantly charm the pants off of his cuz (she would also have expert conversation skills and an affinity for vacuuming in pearls and high heels).

Yes, for reasons unknown, Darcy's brain fancied Lizzie a 1950's housewife.

Instead of a redheaded and infinitely sexier version of June Clever, what greeted he and Richard at the door was a frazzled, mess of a girl clothed in droopy sweats, a coffee stain down the front of her v-neck t-shirt, with a fire burning in her dark eyes and a broom cocked and ready in her hand.

Darcy blinked and stared at his shoes; as strange as it was, Lizzie's less than pristine appearance had somehow made her even more beautiful.

"I thought I told you blood sucking bastards to take your pathetic act to the house of someone who's actually famous!" Lizzie roared before recognition dawned on her and she blushed furiously as she attempted to prop the broom next to the door.

Richard, whose hands were in the air as if he were being held at gun point, was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Sorry," Lizzie began sheepishly, "I thought…we've had paparazzi camping out in front of the place…" She gave herself a quick once over and if it were possible turned even redder. "Oh, crap…"

"You, look…" Darcy stumbled daring to meet her eyes and Lizzie cut him off with a self-deprecating snort.

"Like utter shit," she chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm sure he was going to say 'lovely', but that would be a lie and we were taught never to lie," Richard cut in, putting his hand in hers. "Richard Fitzwilliam; I'm Darcy's most beloved, most favorite cousin in the whole, wide world, but of course you know that cause I'm sure he's told you loads about me."

Richard's comment breaking the sudden shyness that had gripped him, Darcy quickly replied, "I haven't said one word about you."

Lizzie smiled, bemused. "Lizzie Bennet; it's nice to meet you."

"Basically," Richard started with a pointed look in Darcy's direction, "we've come to kidnap you…"

"That is, if you're not busy," Darcy hastily added.

"Actually, I was just about to go out to lunch with Britney Spears," she told them dryly as she moved aside to let the men into the apartment.

Richard wasted no time flopping down on the couch as if he were at home. "Well, you are dressed perfectly for a Cheetos run."

Laughing as she closed the door, Lizzie turned around and came face-to-face with Darcy who suddenly looked more sour than usual. She raised an eyebrow. "What? You've got something against Cheetos?" She paused, "Or, perhaps Britney Spears?"

"Both, actually," with a mere two steps Darcy had closed the gap between them and without another word, grabbed the bottom of Lizzie's ratty T-shirt, fanning it out.

Bottom lip captured quite nervously between her teeth, Lizzie's gaze traveled from Darcy's hands to his eyes, which were the sort of stormy blue that had the power to liquefy a girl's insides – and her insides were responding accordingly – the little Judas's.

She swallowed. Hard. "We've already established the fact I'm the height of hobo fashion right now; there's no need to rub it in."

Darcy frowned. "You've been drinking coffee."

"Oh," she sighed, brown eyes rolling heavenward, "is that all?"

"_Is that all_?!" he scoffed. "You've gotta stop, you know. It's not good for the…"

"Kidneys!" Lizzie cut him off with a harried look at a beaming Richard. "Yeah, I know…I'm working on the addiction…"

"_Baby_," Darcy finished. "It's okay, he knows."

Lizzie cut her eyes, "You couldn't have told me this _before_ I made an ass of myself," and got a grin in response. "Besides, I didn't actually get to _drink_ it – Jane caught me red handed before I could even take one sip and snatched the mug out of my hands, hence the stain." She sighed forlornly, "The entire apartment has been stripped of Folgers and their friends, so you can cancel the lecture."

"Really, cause you would've loved it. I've been reading Pregnancy for Dummies – it was going to be a very well-informed chewing out," he said good-naturedly before realizing he still had her by the shirt tail; overcome with schoolboy embarrassment, Darcy promptly let her go.

"So, Tequila Sunrise, huh?" Richard spoke up, ending the awkward silence that had settled itself in the room. "I make a mean Tequila Sunrise; it's a damn shame I didn't meet you first…"

Darcy eyed him derisively over his shoulder. "I'm sure Mags feels the same way,"

"Drown in a pool," Richard grunted and suddenly took great interest in the ring on his left hand.

Lizzie smiled. "Wow, you two really are the worst kidnappers ever."

"If you're busy, we understand…Richard wanted to meet you…this is all his idea," Darcy babbled to his feet.

"Darce, she's not busy. Lizzie, is your schedule so full that you can't fit in some time with your handsome fiancé and his way handsomer cousin?"

Lizzie snickered. "Britney will be disappointed, but I've got a few hours to kill before work."

"Sweet!' Richard exclaimed, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. "That's exactly the answer I longed to hear; now, go change into something a little less gross, Darcy and I will entertain ourselves."

Darcy stood very still, hands shoved deep into the depths of his jeans; he silently prayed that if he merely pretended Richard was far away – on the moon, far away – that his smug, bastard of a relative would disappear and Darcy would no longer have to contend with his shit-eating grin. It didn't work, and said grin was just as wide as ever now that Lizzie had left the room; Darcy finally admitted defeat and spared a glance in Richard's direction.

"What?" he practically growled.

Richard was suddenly the picture of innocence. "I didn't say anything."

"No," Darcy shook his head with a sigh, "but you're clearly thinking and that's never good."

"Lizzie's nice, I like her."

"Uh-huh."

"No, I mean it. She's…um, what's the word…spunky? Yeah, she's funny, too and cute as all hell – you lucked out big time considering your captain was piloting with beer goggles."

Darcy continued to eye him suspiciously. "I thank you; anything else?"

Hesitating, Richard waited for the distinct sound of a running shower before he said, "And, you are so far gone it's hilarious."

Darcy huffed indignantly and began to pace back and forth. "I am _not_ 'far gone'! I don't even know what the hell that's supposed to mean!"

"Oh, _sure_ you don't," Richard rolled his eyes, "Darcy, you're completely spun on this girl! The last time I saw you this socially awkward around a female we were playing _Magic: The Gathering_ after fifth period and whining about chem homework."

At this point, Darcy was in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet. "Lizzie and I, it's just business…"

A snort, "Don't be an ass, just admit it and deal with it."

"Okay, let's say I did like Lizzie – _hypothetically_…"

"Leave it to you to throw caution to the wind like that," Richard sniggered.

Darcy glared. "It wouldn't matter anyway because she barely tolerates me! The two of us are operating on a pretty shaky truce at the moment; just a week ago, she wouldn't even speak to me."

"She's pregnant and hormonal." Richard paused with a shrug. "Besides, you probably said something douchey and deserved it."

"That's beside the point; no matter what I may or may _not_ feel for Lizzie, she certainly doesn't return the warm fuzzies so why should I put myself out there like a jerk?"

"I dunno, your personal happiness, maybe?" A beat, "Dude, could you stop with the pacing you're giving me a headache." Darcy's feet skidded to a halt and Richard continued, "Look, I know it's scary, especially after Eva – don't scrunch your face up like that, hear me out – Lizzie's the first woman since that disaster you've been genuinely interested in and everything involving your relationship has been done woefully backasswards, but it's okay, Darce. No one ever said you had to stick to tradition; you'd be the biggest idiot in the world if you didn't at least try, so you suck it the fuck up, marry that girl and make her fall in love with you."

Darcy gave him a sideways glance. "You meant all of that hypothetically, right?"

Cutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Richard mumbled, "I'm going to put my fist through your face."

A sigh, "I'm really that transparent?"

"Like a Hogwarts ghost."

With a shake of his head, Darcy was able to stop his futile attempt at wearing a hole in the ground and flopped down next to Richard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "That is possibly _the_ dorkiest sentence ever uttered," he said with a crooked smile.

"Of course you conveniently forget what you said when I told you Maggie and I were getting married." Richard turned his nose up smugly.

"Please forgive me; I usually keep every word I use in each and _every_ conversation we have catalogued for moments such as this." Darcy rolled his eyes.

Snickering and in the haughtiest voice he could muster, Richard said, " 'Maggie agreed to marry, you? You must've cast a Level 7 Love Charm'."

While his cousin roared with laughter, Darcy frowned. "Hey, eighteen was still an awkward age for me."

"You were twenty-two."

"Go ahead and laugh," Darcy told him while Richard wiped the tears from his eyes, "I know where you keep your action figures stashed."

The laughter immediately died. "I bet Lizzie would _love_ to hear just how many times you saw the Lord of the Rings trilogy in the theater." A beat, "Tell me, Gandalf, how many miles is it to Mordor?"

"I don't know, Malfoy; why don't you Apparaite?"

**xx**

Now, it was painfully obvious to even the most casual of observers that Darcy loved Richard a great deal. He considered Richard to be more like a brother than anything else, but there were times, and he would never admit it out loud, that Darcy couldn't stand Fitzwilliam.

Unsurprisingly, these periods of intense dislike only occurred when there was an outsider in their midst; and this dislike rapidly crossed over into hatred if said outsider happened to have girl parts. Richard had the good fortune to be blessed with the sort of easy manners that made his dealings with the opposite sex seem almost effortless, whereas Darcy was busy fighting against a strong current in a sea of social retardation. Fitzwilliam would flash that smile, ruffle his ginger-blonde hair, say something _astoundingly _witty, and suddenly everyone was in love, and Darcy, poor Darcy, was nothing more than an insignificant spec caught in his cousin's orbit (because being good-looking meant absolutely nothing if every chick in the room thought you were a morose type of fucker). Although the days of competing for a woman's attention had long since passed, every now and again, Darcy would find himself in desperate need to quell a strong desire to put his foot in Richard's ass.

As the trio walked through the crowd on the Third Street Promenade, Richard was busy laying it on thick and Lizzie was lapping up his every word; she laughed loudly at his jokes and threw him adoring glances (a little, _too_ adoring) – the two of them were positively beaming, all the while Darcy remained sallow and silently plotting a way to get him alone and snap his neck.

Perhaps sensing blood in the water, Richard casually wandered into the graphic novel section of Barnes & Noble, leaving Darcy and Lizzie completely alone in self-help.

"Richard's hilarious," Lizzie said absently glancing over the book titles.

"He's married, you know; with kids. _Two_ kids," Darcy blurted and instantly regretted it. Good god, he had developed situational Tourettes.

"Yeah…" she nodded slowly, her expression unmistakably one of 'humor the mental patient', "he told me. Jesse and Daisy sound adorable."

"They are," he smiled warmly. "Completely spoiled, but adorable nonetheless." He held up the shopping bag dangling at his side. "Daisy scammed this out of me yesterday – that kid would sell government secrets for a Bratz doll."

"Oh, those are for Daisy…"

He gave her a look. "Of course; what else would you think?"

She shrugged. "That you're a creepy man who plays with dolls."

"I prefer Barbie – I'm old fashioned that way."

Lizzie laughed, turning back to the stack of books. "That's good to know, Christmas is coming up." She ran her finger along the spines coming to a stop on a pristine copy of Pregnancy for Dummies she pulled it from the shelf. "Did you honestly buy this?" she asked him while flipping through the pages.

"Yeah," Darcy chuckled self-deprecatingly, "everyone at Amazon is probably getting a fat bonus this year courtesy of me with all the money I spent."

She hesitated, "We haven't really talked about this, and I dunno, maybe I've been avoiding it because it becomes real the moment we do." Taking a deep breath she met his gaze. "There's this little, human being growing inside me and it's going to expect me to be responsible and prepared, and know all of the answers to the universe and I'm scared. I've never been so goddamn scared of anything in my life. Are you scared?"

"I'm terrified," Darcy breathed.

"But, you're already getting into the mode, right? You're buying the books, you're probably looking at nursery designs and Baby Gap booties, and I haven't done any of that. I'm still stuck in this state of denial; the other day, I actually tried to convince myself that my favorite pair of jeans wasn't fitting because I'd eaten an extra bag of Ruffles." Audibly sighing she stuck the book back in its slot on the shelf. "I had all of these plans; I was gonna be this incredible actress and ride this wave of selfishness well into my mid-thirties," she smirked, "where I would make up for it by adopting a Cambodian child or something."

"Instead, I serve potato skins for a living and…" Lizzie looked down at her stomach, "well, you know."

He regarded her for a moment, his features abnormally soft. "I was going to be a world class chef and when my selfish years wrapped up, I would land a deal with the Food Network, travel the world, and be a much younger and better looking version of Anthony Bourdain. Instead, I'm the head of a company I don't want and…"

Lizzie frowned. "I know."

Darcy shrugged. "I've got the whole of Amazon's parenting section at my fingertips and I'm just as lost and ill prepared as you are, Lizzie." His hand, of its own volition, reached out and grabbed hers. "It's okay whatever we screw up, we'll do it together."

A blush settling in her cheeks, Lizzie gently slid her hand out of his grasp with a tepid smile and a muttered, "Thanks", and returned her fingers to the spines of books.

* * *

_Author's Note: This is my last week of school (whoo!), so the wait for the second half of this chapter shouldn't be too long. Originally, it wasn't going to be two-parts, but I felt like updating and leaving you guys with a bit of a 'moment' sans Wickham. But, don't worry, he'll crush your dreams in the next part; I won't let you down. _


	18. Jaws Theme Swimming Pt 2

_**Jaws Theme Swimming**_

**(Part Two)**

There was a curious moment in between the time the three of them had left the bookstore behind that Lizzie paused; though Richard was chatting animatedly by her side, she was unable to stop her eyes from darting to Darcy – who had once again lapsed into silence. Within said curious moment a small, niggling thought produced itself at the back of her mind and gnawed its way through her occipital lobe until she could no longer deny its existence,

Maybe, just _maybe_, she had pegged Fitzwilliam Darcy wrong.

Insane as it were, it was the only explanation that made even the tiniest bit of sense while she tried to reconcile Darcy's apparent, Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde complex. This was the man whose initial reaction to the news of her pregnancy, was to call her a whore and insinuate she was after his bank account, who said insomuch, she was 'too middle-class' to understand the pressures of his world, and who not only accused Daniel Wickham of such horrible things, but sweetened the whole deal by cutting off his college education.

This was the same guy who was such a loving, big brother? The guy who beamed from ear to ear at the mention of, and bought dolls for his niece? Who tolerated her mother and younger sisters in all of their fucking ridiculous glory, and did so, so casually and without the slightest hint of a complaint; the guy who said she was unlike anyone he had ever met, who proposed to her though he didn't have to, and shared his fears for the future and unrealized dreams in hopes to quell her own?

"What time is it?" Lizzie asked, absently rubbing at her right hand; ten whole minutes after Darcy had taken her hand, it still tingled.

"4:30," Darcy said, tucking his cell phone away.

"Well, boys it's been fun, but minimum wage duty calls," she sighed with a smile. "Richard, it was very nice to meet you."

"Wait, Darcy and I can give you a ride," he started, but Lizzie shook her head.

"No, that's okay. It's not far from here and I love to walk."

"I'll walk with you." Though he was speaking to her, Darcy was determinedly keeping his eyes on Richard. "I don't mind, really."

Feeling oddly nervous, Lizzie gave a hesitant shrug. "Um, yeah, sure – okay."

"Alright, then…" Richard's lip quirked upwards as he took the bag out of Darcy's hand, "I'll take this to my traitor spawn," he chuckled. "Lizzie, I thank you for being the perfect kidnapping victim. See, Darce, I told you we wouldn't need all that duct tape and rope -- _sadly_."

"There's something in there for Jesse, too," Darcy told him, "so, tell, Daisy I'm sorry she won't be able to gloat as much."

Richard 'tsked'. "Leave it to you to crush a little girl's hopes like that," he deadpanned, and with a grin and a nod, he departed, leaving the two of them all alone.

Rather awkwardly they stood in silence watching Richard's retreating form being swallowed up by the crowd, and when the back of his head could no longer be seen, Darcy cleared his throat and gestured to the spot of sidewalk in front of him as if to say, "after you".

Silently they walked side-by-side, Lizzie with her hands in her coat pockets and head down against the wind, and Darcy idly playing with the ends of the scarf that dangled loosely around his neck. Every now and again Lizzie would swear she could feel his eyes on her, but when she happened to glance in his direction, Darcy simply remained as he had been when they parted from Richard – deathly quiet and eyes focused straight ahead.

Unable to stand it any longer, she said, "You and Richard seem pretty close for cousins."

"Yeah," he nodded, "we grew up together."

"That's so unreal to me," she chuckled, "I mean, of course I had a house full of sisters running around making me contemplate the benefits of seppuku, so I never felt the need to really connect to any of my extended family. I can honestly only think of two of my cousins who aren't total rat bastards."

Darcy smiled. "Oh, Richard's a total rat bastard, but then again, maybe that's why we get along so well."

Lizzie snickered. "Family trait, huh?"

"So, um…how long have you worked at Friday's?" he asked seemingly out of the blue and still not bothering to look Lizzie directly in the face.

"Six, _very_ long months," she sighed with a shrug. "Hey, it pays the bills that Jane won't. For some reason, she doesn't think a cable package that includes BBC America is 'necessary' – I had to do something."

"Oh," he replied quietly. "Do you like it?"

Lizzie regarded him, her brow raised. "That's like asking me if I like rectal surgery…or Jessica Alba."

Darcy flinched. "_That_ bad?"

"It has it's moments of non-suck, but those are few and far in between. I never thought I'd be there this long; I'd planned on getting back to auditioning again, but when I found out I was pregnant, I knew a steady paycheck was more in my best interest."

"Richard's a producer, you know," Darcy blurted and stumbled a bit off of the look she gave him. "Well, what I mean to say is, he's started a production company – it's very small, but I told him if he gets his hands on some truly good scripts, I'll finance it for him. If something comes up, I can always…"

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

Darcy snickered. "Guess you wanna perfect that waitress thing, huh?"

"Oh, that's real nice, Darcy. I'm glad my principles are so hilarious to you."

"Extremely hilarious, actually." Lizzie shot him daggers as he continued. "This is Hollywood," he told her softly, "it's all about who you know. You can audition on your own, and I'll make sure to tell him that if you're truly shit, he's to turn you down right then and there."

It was the first time in their entire conversation that Darcy had deigned to look at her; a half smile playing on his lips and his eyes unnaturally kind along with the combination of the chilly wind whipping his dark hair about made quite the picture. Good _god_, he really was handsome, and Lizzie had to grudgingly admit Charlotte was right – she _had_ hit the 'baby daddy' jackpot.

Fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, Lizzie said, "You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

When they reached the outside of Friday's doors, she turned to thank him for keeping her company and before the words could jump off the tip of her tongue, Darcy said, "I've never actually tasted the food here."

"Your stomach will thank you," she snorted

"Do you have something against me finally finding out what the hell a jalapeno party popper is?" He grinned.

She tilted her head, a slightly puzzled look on her face. "No, it's a free country; you're entitled to all of the acid reflux you can stand, just like the next guy. Just stay away from the triple cheese nachos – _trust _me; oh, and sit anywhere but in my section, please – no offense, it's just that this uniform already fills my daily shame quotient," Lizzie told him as they made their way inside.

"_Surprise_!"

The everyday clang of forks and spoons meeting plates, the murmur of various conversations at various tables, the hectic shouting of orders, the squeaky swing of the kitchen door, and the mind-numbing muzak pouring over the loudspeaker were all noticeably absent from the TGI Friday's that particular afternoon. Its staff gathered near the entrance, their usual indifferent smiles replaced with something more genuine; a banner declaring 'CONGRATULATIONS LIZZIE!' hung brilliantly above the bar and to top it all off, Charlotte emerged from the kitchen with a cake – its little topper of a bride with her groom by the scruff of his neck.

Lizzie looked at Darcy who merely shrugged. "What's all this?" she asked.

Navi popped her gum. "Your engagement/sendoff party, duh," she said matter-of-factly and added with eyes roving over Darcy's frame. "Cause there's no way any of us are going to let you continue to work in this dump when you're marrying a fine piece like that."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably on his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You guys didn't…" Lizzie started, but was cut off by Charlotte.

"We know we didn't _have_ to throw you a party especially one that's costing us some serious dime at the start of dinner rush, but Lizzie you're special." She smiled tenderly at her friend. "And you're leaving, and you deserve a proper goodbye, so you get your ungrateful ass over here and eat this cake."

When it came to social situations, Lizzie found that Darcy was much more of a speak-when-spoken to kind of guy, and those words were entirely monosyllabic at best. He hung back for the most part absently taking bites of the cake in his hand or a sip from 'The Monster', a strawberry daiquiri Drew, the bartender insisted he have; and when cornered by one of her coworkers (damn near all suspiciously female), she noticed he tended to fidget, drop his eyes to his feet, and then reply with something incredibly clipped and slightly pompous, resulting in a hasty retreat by a spurned member of the Friday's crew, and a twinge of pink in Darcy's cheeks.

"He's _shy_," Lizzie said aloud, unbeknownst to herself.

Charlotte grinned knowingly. "You were one of the slow kids in the back of the classroom, weren't you?"

Doing a double-take, Lizzie tore her gaze away from Darcy and faced her friend with a newfound embarrassment. "That was out loud, wasn't it?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I've really gotta learn how to control that."

Leaning in close to her Lizzie's, Charlotte dropped her voice just above a whisper, "Wait a minute, could Lizzie _actually_ be having thoughts about Fitzwilliam Darcy that _aren't _related to murder? Could I dare go out on a limb and say some of these thoughts might even be friendly nature?" she asked, gasping. "Color me shocked and amazed."

"You could go out on that limb, and I hope you fall and break your fucking neck," Lizzie said with mock sweetness as she turned on her heels heading toward Darcy. With each step she took, she questioned her sanity; of course it was her duty to appear every bit the doting fiancé, but her motives for this long trek across the room weren't driven so much by that infamous piece of paper as they were by a sudden, unexplainable desire to help the poor man along.

She stopped mere inches away from his feet and took a sip of her Sprite before plopping it down on the bar top. "How's 'The Monster'?" she asked brightly.

"Loaded with more liquor than strawberries, I suspect," he chuckled.

Lizzie brought a finger to her lips. "Shh! You'll give away the secret."

"Oh, crap, how careless of me."

Laughing, she gestured to the empty space around them. "So, what is this?"

"What's what?" Darcy cocked his head to the side.

"This! It's like the isle of misfit billionaire's over here! Are you allergic to public interaction?" Lizzie teased. "C'mon, Darcy," she began taking his free hand, "part with your booze for just a moment, there's some people I want you to meet."

"Hey, Lizzie!"

At some point between her and Darcy walking through Friday's double doors, and Charlotte shoving cake into her hands, Lizzie completely forgot one very important fact about her workplace….

Daniel Wickham was on the payroll.

This glaring oversight proved to be most inconvenient since at the sight of the aforementioned gentlemen, Darcy crushed the living hell out of her hand.

Yanking her poor, wounded mitt out of his grasp, Lizzie smiled tightly at the approaching Danny. "Hey…you," she attempted cheerful and failed miserably.

Clearly playing off of Darcy's presence, Wickham swept Lizzie up into a hug that literally lifted her off of her feet; when he finally returned her to the ground his face was split wide with a cheesy grin. "God, I'm so sorry I'm late – I wouldn't have missed my sensei's sendoff for the world, but you know how my car likes to pick and choose when it feels like cranking up." Smile still firmly in place he turned his attention on a seething Darcy. "Will, how are you? Or does everyone call you Fitzwilliam, now?"

The vein in the middle of Darcy's forehead pulsed dangerously and he said nary a word, not even bothering to grunt.

"So, when's the wedding?" Wickham asked cheerily.

"We uh haven't exactly decided on a date yet, have we Darcy?" Lizzie's eyes flitted between the two. "Though, we're thinking something along the lines of mid-December."

"Be sure to let me know, won't you, sensei? I'll keep my calendar clear," his smile curling into something strikingly nasty, Wickham leaned into Darcy, "especially if you need a best man."

It happened in an instant, so quick in fact, that a mere blink prevented Lizzie from catching the exact moment that Darcy put his hands around Wickham's neck, and it took the loud thud of Wickham's back hitting the wall for everyone else in the room to become wise to the goings on.

There were shrieks and the harried sounds of the feet of men rushing over to pry Darcy off of the red-faced man.

"Let him go, Fitzwilliam….c'mon now," Drew gently coaxed with one hand wrapped around Darcy's forearm.

"If you touch her, I will kill you," Darcy spat through gritted teeth before dropping his hands.

Wickham coughed and sputtered as he straightened himself up and allowed Darcy to take two steps back (but made sure he was still in ear range) before he said, "Pussy."

That time, not a single person in the room missed out on seeing the punch that landed squarely in the middle of Wickham's face.

* * *

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" 

Lizzie was fast on his heels as Darcy shoved his way out of the restaurant's doors, roaring at the top of her lungs. "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Lizzie, _don't_." The sentence may have been short, but it was deeply ominous. Anger practically rolled off of his body in waves and Darcy wrung his hands together while pacing back and forth.

"Don't, _what_? Don't tell you that you just made a complete jackass out of yourself!" she screamed. "I can't even believe…"

"How do you know, Daniel Wickham?" he suddenly asked.

She glared. "From prayer group," was her sarcastic reply. "We _work_ together!"

"Good thing it's your last week there, I don't want you anywhere near him, you understand?"

Red and gold flashed in Lizzie's eyes. "_Excuse_ me?"

Darcy had now taken to pulling at the ends of his hair. "I didn't stutter; stay away from him."

"Despite what your severely demented brain may have told you, I don't take orders from anyone – especially, you!" Lizzie shook her head. "You've really got some fucking nerve, buddy."

"_I've_ got nerve?!" Darcy's eyes went wide.

"I. Didn't. Stutter," she shot back. "Considering this whole situation should've gone the other way around, yeah, I'd say you've got a big load of nerve."

"The other way around…?!"

"After everything you've done to Danny, he should've wiped the floor with your ass."

"Everything _I_…" doing a double-take, Darcy laughed humorlessly, "you know what, Lizzie, I think it's time you learned to keep your mouth shut about things you have no fucking clue about."

Lizzie practically snarled. "Oh, I know, _plenty_!"

"Oh, I _bet_ you do," he snickered derisively.

"I know you're a cold, calculating son of a bitch who I wish I never met!"

Turning sharply on his heels Darcy shouted contemptuously over his shoulder, "See you at the altar, sweetheart!" and stalked angrily off into the night.

* * *

_Author's Note: So sorry for the wait time. This chapter went through rewrite after rewrite and I'm still kind of 'meh' about it; thankfully, though I managed to wrangle my OCD in long enough to come to the conclusion to post it. _


	19. Pray for Plagues

_You know what I love about storytelling? The ability to jump ahead in time all willy-nilly like – it's neat; I feel like I have some sort of superpower. It's an incredibly lame superpower when you put it side-by-side with 'faster than a speeding bullet' or 'ability to produce webbing', but it's mine. _

_I think I'm done rambling, now – on with this dog and pony show. _

_**Pray for Plagues **_

**(an interlude)**

_:video clip:_

_Billy Bush: Love is in the air tonight on Access Hollywood; from Katherine and Josh, to Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, we've got the scoop on which Hollywood couples are tying the knot – coming up after the break. _

_:end video clip:_

St. Brendan was impeccably decorated the results of thousands of hours of planning on the part of Los Angeles' most in demand wedding coordinator and Frannie Bennet (who could not be persuaded to keep her many ideas and overall self out of it). The musicians with their horns were setting up in the balcony where they would anxiously await the cue to echo one of the bride's favorite films and play "All You Need is Love"; the dove wranglers unloaded their cages with silent prayers the birds would stop shitting and pecking long enough to pull their job off without a hitch, the caterers put the finishing touches on the meal they were to serve to over two-hundred guests who would surely be starved for pate and an open bar, and the presently unhappy flower girl was in the middle of a getting stern talking to from her mother because chocolate cupcake frosting mysteriously smooshed itself into her pearl white dress (while her bemused older sister quietly thought it served cousin Darcy right for picking Daisy over her).

Amidst all of the chaos surrounding her, for her part Lizzie seemed eerily calm; holed up in her bridal room she watched images of her and Darcy flash across the TV screen while Access Hollywood did their patented starfucker commentary. Her strange mood could be attributed to the fact she had finally accepted her fate – this was her 'Last Supper', her 'Green Mile' and it was going to hurt a helluva lot, but the ends would justify the means.

The soft knock at the door indicated the high improbability it was her mother or any one of her heinous younger sisters, and Lizzie rose to answer the door without an ounce of reluctance.

"Hey," she smiled lazily at Charlotte and Jane.

Bug-eyed, the other two women wasted no time pushing their way inside. "Lizzie, you're not dressed!" Jane gasped.

Charlotte followed the eldest Bennet's lead, "Why aren't you dressed?!"

"I'm so glad to see you guys," Lizzie began, ignoring their question, "that chair is way heavy and I'd never be able to move it over to the window on my own. It's so dainty looking you wouldn't believe it's built like a boulder."

Exchanging a concerned look with Charlotte, Jane spoke slowly, "Lizzie, why would you need the chair by the window?"

Lizzie cut her eyes. "Well, the feng shui in this room is a little off…c'mon, Jane!" She threw her hands in the air.

"Oh no, no, no, kid…" Charlotte grabbed her shoulders, "you've got hundreds of people waiting out there and the threat of litigation hanging over your head, you're not running out!"

"He can sue me!" Lizzie spun on her heels heading for the sofa chair that had become her last hope of a Darcy-free existence.

"Would you stop for a second and think about this," Jane pleaded. "What about the baby! Are you really just going to throw away the kind of life Darcy is offering for your child?"

"I _am_ thinking about the baby!" Feebly she tried to push the chair, but it refused to budge. "All the money in the world doesn't change the fact that Darcy is a violent, horrible man and this baby will be better off without him!"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Christ, not this again…"

"Not what, Charlotte?!" Lizzie snapped. "You were there, you saw what he did to Danny! As if getting his kicks by ruining the guy's life wasn't enough Darcy has to go and pick a fight and embarrass him in front of his coworkers." With an exhasperated grunt, she landed a well-placed kick to the chair's side. "Goddamn, is this thing cemented to the ground?!"

Jane sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "You haven't even gotten Darcy's side of the story."

"I don't need it; I had him pegged for an asshole the moment I told him I was pregnant and once again I wasn't wrong. Always trust a sober first impression."

"Still, don't you think you should at least talk to him about Danny?" Jane continued her attempt to be the voice of reason. "Like I've said, Lizzie, how much do you really know about Danny – outside of work and a trip to the OB you haven't spent a lot of time together. You've at least gotten to know Darcy…"

"I don't know him _that_ well," Lizzie interjected.

"You've met his sister, his best friend, and his closest relative for god's sake! You've spent the night together more than once – you let dad get him drunk, you've spent all of this time with all of these people who certainly don't seem to think him the walking embodiment of evil, and you're letting the opinion of _one _man who's not exactly your b.f.f. shape the way you see him?! Jane shook her head. "You owe Darcy a chance to explain himself."

Charlotte snickered. "But, Janie that would require maturity and sanity."

"And, this is why I didn't make you Maid of Honor." Lizzie glared at her best friend. "I owe him nothing and this is no longer up for discussion; now are you guy's gonna help me or not?"

**xx**

"I'm an idiot!"

Cocking his head to light his cigarette, Richard grinned. "I'm not arguing." Patiently he waited for a comeback and when none came the bright smile slowly slipped off of his face and with great concern he turned to Bingley. "Wait, what's wrong with him?"

"Long story," Charlie shook his head.

"What dumbass thing did he say to Lizzie now?"

"I'm sure he said lots of transcript-worthy stupid shit to Lizzie, but it's more of a 'what did he do' and a 'what he didn't say'." Charlie sighed, "Really, Darcy this whole thing could be cleared up if you'd just tell her the truth."

Marlboro firmly planted between his lips, Richard glanced sideways at the two men. "Anyone care to clue me in?"

"I ran into Danny," Darcy said dejectedly.

"He works with Lizzie," Charlie supplied, "and it's more of a 'ran his fist into Danny'."

Richard beamed nearly leaping off of the bench. "Outstanding! You kicked his ass, right? Oh, _please_ tell me you kicked his ass."

"Apparently, Danny's been feeding Lizzie a load of bull about Darce and all of the boogey man images came true the second he hit him."

"You didn't hear what he said," Darcy clenched his teeth. "I was extremely generous considering."

"What did he say?" Richard flicked the last of the cigarette's ashes into the grass and made sure there weren't priest or nun-like figures around when he tossed the butt into the church bushes.

"He's going to try to sleep with Lizzie."

"He hinted at it," Charlie corrected.

Richard chuckled. "I knew you were in love with her."

Darcy's head whipped around at that. "Goddammit, I am not!"

"That's fifty-six Hail Mary's for you."

"I like her," Darcy hesitantly admitted.

"Like a fat kid 'likes' cake," Richard said getting a laugh from Charlie.

"And, I think maybe she was starting to like me, too – or at least starting to tolerate me a little bit, and then there's Wickham standing there all smug and dropping these snide comments while blatantly checking her out and I snapped." A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Darcy ran his weary hands through his dark hair. "I should've kept my cool."

"No, you should've kicked his ass and told Lizzie why." Putting a comforting hand on his cousin's shoulder, Richard said, "Talk to her, you idiot."

"I can't; you don't know what it's like trying to talk to Lizzie, those eyes glaring at you – it's horrible. She wants nothing to do with me, hell she's probably climbing out of a window right now."

Climbing to their respective feet Charlie and Richard pulled a dejected Darcy to his; Richard took the time to brush any trace of ash off of his tux while Charlie straightened Darcy's tie. "If you can't say it to her face then find another way," Charlie told him.

"C'mon, cuz," Richard began throwing an arm around Darcy's shoulders, "let's get you married."

* * *

_Author's Note: So, yes it's awfully short, but it's just a transition chapter and when we come back we'll be delving into their first two months of marriage. _

_See, I'm working this super power thing. _

_Review if you feel so inclined. _


	20. Ball & Chain

_Author's Note: Go easy on Lizzie, guys. She'll change her tune soon enough. _

_**Ball & Chain**_

In the end, Jane and Charlotte found themselves resigned to 'help' Lizzie; since Charlotte was the more stoutly and scarily strong of the two, she ultimately had the task of pinning the younger Bennet to the chair while her sister wrestled off her T-shirt and jeans. Several bruises and bite marks later, Lizzie was imprisoned in flowing Vera Wang white and at the mercy of a hair and makeup team.

When her auburn locks were sufficiently pinned up to the point where escape was laughably futile, and foundation and lipstick were gingerly applied, the parade of expensive stylists left the bridal room leaving the door open for the rest of the female side of the Bennet clan to file in. Frannie battled running mascara while simultaneously hugging everyone in sight, Mary attempted to look bored as shit while bemoaning the lavender color of her bridesmaid gown (black would've been so much better), and Lydia couldn't stop talking about how big Lizzie's boobs had gotten while Kit parroted her sentiments.

"Seriously, Lizzie your tits are _huge_!"

"Ginormous, actually."

Cornering Lizzie on all sides, the twins leaned in conspiratorially. "He got your boobs done, didn't he?" Lydia whispered.

Kit followed her lead. "You can tell us if he did."

A glint that was nothing short of evil flashed in her dark, brown eyes and the corners of her mouth curled up. "No, the secret is, if you do this…" elbows pointed in towards her chest, Lizzie flexed her arms, "at least five times a day – totally increases your bust."

Lydia's eyes lit up. "Seriously?"

Lizzie gestured towards her ample chest. "You really need anymore proof?"

Exchanging a look with Lydia, Kit gave a small shrug of her shoulders and immediately began Lizzie's bosom-enhancing regimen.

"Okay, everyone," Jane began clapping her hands together, "I think we should all head out and take our places – give Lizzie a moment to herself."

As she ushered everyone out of the room, Jane took a second to grab her little sister by the hand and told her how gorgeous she looked and when the door closed on those encouraging green eyes, Lizzie collapsed against it with all of her weight trying very hard to stave off the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes.

Her breath came in short, panicked bursts and thoughts of setting fire to the chair that was supposed to be her ticket to freedom raced across her brain. This truly was it – good god, when she screwed up, she really knew how to do it with brilliance. Her future was comprised of five more months of swollen feet and stretch marks, followed by fifteen more filled with diaper genies, chapped nipples, and Darcy. She wanted to be dancing on bartops with Charlotte, she wanted to be living off of Ramen and booze (and coffee), she wanted to date all of the wrong people this time with Depo Provera backing her up, and she wanted the only mention of St. Brendan's in accordance with her life to have more to do with a lie to her parents about whether she'd been attending mass and confession and less about marriage preparations.

She wanted the complete non-responsibility of being twenty-one years old, but mostly, she wanted Fitzwilliam Darcy to fall off a fucking cliff. The thought of having to look at his smug, rotten, little face day in and day out made her equal parts angry and sick. Angry at herself for lacking judgment and getting mixed up with such a pompous, spiteful twat, and sick over the fact her child would have half of said pompous, spiteful twat's genetic material.

The lump in her throat refused to be swallowed and when the floodgates were prepared to burst open, the doorknob turned.

Sean Bennet poked his rumpled head inside the room. "So, Darcy's a nervous git; how are you holding up?"

She smiled, quickly pulling herself together as she let her dad inside. "I'm great. I think I'll be even better once all of this is over."

"I get ya." He nodded. "There's, a lot of people out there – all sorts of relatives of ours I didn't even know existed…"

"So, what you're saying is the open bar was a _fabulous_ idea," Lizzie joked getting a chuckle in reply.

"Did you know that Darcy is related to that Catherine De Bourgh woman your mother watches all the time on the Food Network? I thought she brought Michael Jackson as her date, but Richard swears it's just her daughter. If you need a moment to quietly laugh at the spectacle this whole wedding business has become, then throw your eyes in that direction." Sean grinned. "I had a feeling you let your mum pick out the planner."

Taking a second to regard Lizzie with his head tilted and a warm smile on his lips, he softly asked, "So, when are you due?"

Eyes widening, she played dumb. "In about five minutes, I think. I can hear mom screaming for everyone to line up."

"Five minutes, huh?" Sean raised a brow. "You're having the baby in the first pew?"

She sputtered. "What? I…uh…"

"Elizabeth, you can fool the press, you can fool your friends, Christ, knows you can fool your mother, but you can never, _ever_ fool me." Lovingly placing his hands on her cheeks, he continued, "When I walked into this room just now, you looked very much like a girl on the verge of a crisis and I felt the need to tell you this is not the end of the world. You and Darcy are in for an awfully big adventure, that I get the feelin' you were both quite ill prepared for, but I think in the end you'll find that this will bring out nothing but the best in the two of you. Life has a tendency to veer off into directions we weren't necessarily looking to go, but the trick is to take your lot in it, and handle it with grace and strength, and you've got those qualities in spades. No matter what, my Lizzie, I'm very proud of the woman you are fast becoming, and I can't wait to meet my grandchild."

And with that, Sean bestowed a tiny kiss on her forehead and enveloped her in a hug.

"I'm due in May," Lizzie laughed through tears as she held onto him tightly, "and you're a bastard for making me cry. Did you see how many people it took to make me look like this?"

Removing the handkerchief from the pocket of his tux, Sean gently dabbed the cloth at her wet cheeks.

"I know I'm an absolute wanker."

* * *

Though it was surely no easy task for whatever higher power happened to be in charge that day, the Bennet/Darcy wedding managed to go off without a single hitch, though, it was quite touch and go for a moment when a hysterical Caroline Bingley had to be escorted out of the church during the vow exchange. 

Doves were released, the band played "All You Need is Love" nearly on cue (on orders from Richard Fitzwilliam, the tune began as Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up", because he and he alone thought it would be hilarious to Rick-Roll his cousin on his wedding day), and somehow all two-hundred and fifty guests made it to the Amada Plaza for the reception in one, impeccably dressed piece.

Darcy and Lizzie concealed massive amounts of discomfort and dislike (the later more on her end), during their first dance to Georgie's acoustic rendition of "Time after Time", and as per their nature, around 3/4ths of the Bennet's drank like it was going out of style resulting in a lot of slurred, Irish brogue filling the air, and an embarrassingly white attempt at the electric slide.

When 2:00 a.m. rolled around the ballroom finally cleared, and the exhausted 'couple' along with an equally exhausted Georgiana, climbed into the back of a limousine, and Lizzie mentally conceded that if it weren't for the fact she hated Darcy's face, the day would have actually been a lot of fun.

Georgie stretched out like a cat across the seat propping shoeless feet up against the door handle, while Lizzie and her brother took their places on the opposite side. "I still don't understand why you guys feel the need to stay at Pemberly…" she began, her mouth wide to accommodate a yawn.

"Maybe it's because my seventeen year old sister is still in town on her winter break, and I wasn't born yesterday, so leaving her on her own is out of the question?" Darcy shrugged sarcastically. "I'm not sure, though."

Georgiana rolled her eyes. "You've just avoided an argument about how I'm not in diapers anymore, be glad I'm totally drained."

"Hey," Lizzie started, draping her legs lazily across Darcy's lap, "I've never been to Napa, plus a huge ranch _and_ servants? Sounds like a honeymoon to me. Ooh, can I get one of those obnoxious bells and call everyone Jeeves?"

"No, but we could get Caroline to teach you how to abuse the intercom and ensure the entire staff is plotting your death." He smiled.

"Even better," she quipped, earning a sleepy giggle from Georgie's direction.

"We've really got to thank Caroline one day."

Darcy practically did a double take. "What the hell for?"

"For outshining my family in the embarrassing department," Lizzie told him matter-of-factly.

"I dunno," he snickered, "Lydia was definitely not going down without a fight…"

Lizzie sighed, "I swear to god, the dress I picked out for her stopped well below her cooch; I should've known better than to give it to her more than thirty minutes in advance."

"Lydia's pretty cool, actually…" Georgie spoke up suddenly.

There was a simultaneous horror-filled shout of "Stay away from Lydia!" and Lizzie socked him in the shoulder.

"Jinx; and don't you talk about my sister like that! I'm the only one allowed to comment on her sort of very slutty ways."

"Hey, I said she was 'pretty cool', not that I'm going to take fashion tips from her." Shutting her eyes, the teen added, "Not even married for a day and I'm already getting double the overprotection; yeah, you two are perfect for each other."

The sky was fully bathed in daylight by the time the limo rolled its way through the gates of Pemberly Ranch, its occupants sound asleep – the easy chatter of the first hour or so of the trip having been traded in for snoring.

Darcy was the first to wake, his neck painfully stiff and his lap mysteriously full of Lizzie who must've decided at some point in the night that resting her head on the window was far too uncomfortable and thus outweighed her hatred for him. She stirred lightly and he held his breath; he wanted this one moment between them where she didn't have to pretend to like him, and she was too unconscious to behave otherwise, to drag on as long as possible.

She settled her face against his stomach and Darcy let out a small sigh of relief before tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "You're a pathetic piece of shit, Fitzwilliam," he muttered to himself.

Georgiana sprang to life when the car at last came to a stop, loudly exclaiming "Thank god we're home!" and pulled herself upright.

Lizzie followed suit, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Darcy met her quizzical expression with a slightly pained smile, and Lizzie silently turned away to retrieve her shoes from the floorboard.

"I ache in places I didn't know could ache," Georgie whined as she inched her way out of the backseat. "Make no future plans for the hot tub; I'm moving into it as soon as we get inside."

"Ow, ow, ow!" Lizzie groaned and let her shoes drop to the pavement. "Oh yeah, wearing strappy heels for around nine hours was a great fucking idea…"

"Georgie, you mind?" Darcy gestured toward the offending heels and while his baby sister scooped up the shoes, he scooped up Lizzie.

"What the hell are you doing?! Put me down!" she shrieked in surprise and utter embarrassment.

Smug smile firmly set on his lips, Darcy put his mouth close to her ear. "We've got a threshold to cross, honey."

Despite the pouting, the occasional fidgeting, and the ever present glare of death, Darcy trudged up the stairs down to the end of the long, winding corridor where the master bedroom was located, and all with a bundle of Lizzie in his arms. Expertly, he maneuvered a hand to the doorknob and once inside, used his foot to kick it shut.

Immediately, he dropped Lizzie on her feet. "I accept tips," he said rather cheesily.

She frowned. "That's great, because I can think of several I'd _love_ to give you."

"Monetary only," Darcy gripped her shoulders and spun her around so that her back now faced him, "so, I'm afraid your many variations on 'fuck off and die' are unacceptable."

Lizzie ignored him. "Starting with when we're alone the pretending stops which means that all of the nonconsensual touching also stops." She paused and added almost as an afterthought, "Oh and fuck off and die."

Darcy's fingertips gently brushed the bare skin of her back as he swept her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry," he snickered.

"Tip number two: If I needed your help, I would've asked for it," she informed him, voice clipped, "and fuck off and die."

Absently, he began undoing the series of buttons on her dress. "All a part of the service." When he got to the last button just below the small of her back, Darcy lazily traced the outline of the tattoo he found there with his forefinger. "What kind of flower is that?" he asked innocently and let a self-satisfying grin break out on his face at the sound of Lizzie's breath hitching in her chest.

"Stargazer lily."

"Did it hurt?"

Lizzie stepped away from his touch not bothering to look back in Darcy's direction as she headed towards the bathroom. "Needle in skin always hurts. Thanks, I think I can wiggle my way out of this dress from here."

"Why are you so determined to think the worst of me?"

For a moment, she lingered in the bathroom doorway. "I'm not determined you make it quite easy, actually."

"And, what if I told you that unlike some people, I lack the ability to always say the right thing…" He pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his tuxedo shirt.

"Tip number three," Lizzie began slowly shutting the door, "maybe you should practice, but don't forget to fuck off and die while you're at it."

* * *

_A bit of a Q & A session _

_Q: When can we expect new chapters or the completion?_

_Expect new chapters once a month (except this month, when I've clearly posted two). I've got a needy boyfriend and a bitchy boss, they both like to run me into the ground and eat up all of my free time. I've found updating once every month works for me – it's less pressure on your's truly and ensures that I don't pull my hair out. I can't exactly give you an estimate on the completion, but if this were following JA more closely, consider the wedding to be the Netherfield Ball. So, yeah the fight over Wickham wasn't my equivalent to the Hunsford proposal (hint like whoa: remember, Wickham isn't the only bad guy in this story). There's still a ways to go, but I can promise I won't leave you hanging. I love this story too much to not see it through to the end. _

_Q: Just how far along is Lizzie, anyway? _

_The story starts in October, where she is about two months along. The wedding takes place in late December basically because I couldn't think of any other major celeb besides Katherine Heigl who married in late 07 and I needed a name for the Access Hollywood spoof (oh, and I needed them to be able to get away with it without having to roll poor Lizzie down the isle). At this point, Lizzie is showing considerably, but they would want to hide it (think more along the lines of J Lo and Christina before they admitted to being pregnant). So the only real sign of how shotgun this whole affair is Lizzie's suddenly large chest. Why? Cause I love boob jokes. _

_Q: Dude, what is up with all of the pop-culture references? We get it…jesus._

_Honestly, I'm a geek and it's the bit of my personality sneaking through. I tend to talk in references (and so do my friends/boyfriend). Recently, my boyfriend got a cracked glass at Wafflehouse which led to water leaking all over the table and as soon as the puddle headed in my direction, I told him "I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back" (Buffy FTW!). It's unconscious, probably mildly annoying, but it's me and I can't help it._

_One more thing, since I can't reply to ImaReader: _

_The wedding took place in LA, the reception at the Amada in Buena Park. I think the drive from Buena Park to Napa is around 6 and a half hours (not accounting for traffic), but there's a major jump in time that I didn't use a line break to signify. I took into account how exhausted they would be from the day (since the party didn't break up until around 2a.m.) and how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a car, and I came to the conclusion that more than likely, they would've remained passed out until the last possible minute (I know I would have). _


	21. I Lied My Face Off

_**I Lied My Face Off**_

**(month's one and two)**

If Sarah Harding had to describe herself in one word, that word would be: "giver". This particular character trait, naturally enabled her to relinquish her bus seat to little, old ladies, donate her ten percent to the church without complaint, and bring extra dishes to potluck gatherings, but unfortunately left her severely handicapped in other aspects of her life.

You see, when applied to relationships, be it romantic or not, the term "giver" became a thinly veiled shorthand for "emotional doormat". It left her stuck baking five batches of cookies for her sister's kindergarten spring carnival, it meant giving approval to her ex-boyfriend's porno obsession (because who was she to stifle certain aspects of his personality?), and it was responsible for the 'okay' on every, hideous, taffeta tower of ugliness she donned on each of her outings as a bridesmaid.

She couldn't help it; she loved to please people and genuinely feared the thought of disappointing others. So when Sarah met her current squeeze at Mr. Darcy's wedding reception, she gave into her nature and chatted up the lonely looking man who hung back in the corner of the ballroom. At one or two appletini's she discovered he was a former coworker of Lizzie's and the number of people he knew at the event were few and far in between. By five or six drinks, she was perfecting the art of drunken flattery, desperately attempting to be equal parts cute and interested, while remaining aloof. At number nine, he pried her head off the bar and spent the next part of the night working on the buttons to her shirt and pants.

Breakfast the following morning parlayed itself into lunch and then dinner plans for the next day, and before she knew it, they were spending every waking moment together. He wanted to know every last detail of her life, especially what it was like to work for Darcy Media as the secretary of the golden heir, and Sarah was all too happy to oblige,

"Oh, Mr. Darcy? He's a good guy – a little misguided, though. Poor dude's had such a hard time since his dad died and then having that heinous bitch cheat on him right after that…I seriously feared I'd walk into the office and find him hanging from the rafters one day."

the more he seemed to want to pry into her boss's intimate affairs, the more she talked:

"It got so bad, he was fucking anything with a pulse; I had to rescue him from a party at Lindsay Lohan's, once – drove him straight to the doctor's for a penicillin shot, I wasn't taking any chances. Anyway, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping his partying under the radar, but of course he got papped a couple of times and the investors had a fit."

until her babbles about her employer's personal life reached epic proportions.

"Lizzie was a one-night stand, you know? She showed up to the office and Mr. Darcy didn't even remember her! Turned out she's pregnant and they agreed to marry to keep the company scandal free; I've never had to sign so many confidentiality forms in my life! My hand nearly fell off!"

And it was when three whole weeks of pure bliss had passed, and plans began to be unexplainably cancelled, and her phone calls outright ignored, that Sarah wondered if perhaps she had gave too much. If she had _said_ too much.

Another love and devastating loss was added to her tally, and it was a damn shame, too.

'Sarah Harding-Wickham' had had such a nice ring to it.

* * *

"This isn't going to work."

"You've only been married for three weeks; winners never quit and all that…"

"Yeah, three whole weeks in which Lizzie has virtually refused to leave her room! She's hardly eating, and thank god Georgie's gone back to Exeter because I was quickly running out of lame excuses. Charlie, it's like The Yellow Wallpaper up there, and if Lizzie's too unhappy to function, I don't want to keep her here with me and make it any worse on her and the baby!"

Switching the phone to the opposite ear, Charlie stifled a groan and rolled over on his side so that he was now facing Jane. They were practically mirror images of one another: half-lidded, sleep crusted eyes, unruly bed hair, and cell phones propped to their ears. Jane's eyes rolled heavenward and he instantly knew his poor girl was dealing with Lizzie's end in this ridiculous bit of fuckery.

"But, Lizard…you haven't even _tried_…"

"There is no trying, Jane! I can't even stand to look at him and I can't stay here anymore; please come and get me!"

Jane screwed her eyes shut and took more than a moment to steady herself; Charlie watched, utterly fascinated. He never believed it was possible for Janie – _his_ Janie, who seemed to be fueled by nothing but happy things, to be on the verge of losing every ounce of patience she possessed, but it was happening right before him; serenity and good intentions were literally ebbing away from her body.

"No, Lizzie," she began with a heavy sigh, "I'm not coming to get you."

Charlie silently shook with laughter.

"Goddammit, Bingley are you listening to me?" Darcy snapped in his friend's ear.

"Unfortunately," was Charlie's sarcastic reply. "You haven't told her the truth about Danny, have you?"

There was a long pause followed by a hastily muttered "Err….no" on Darcy's end and it took all the strength he had for Charlie not to throw his phone against the wall. "Darce, you know what I feel like right now?"

"Not exactly…"

"I feel, like a parrot. A mangy, seed eating bird that is doomed to a life of shitting on sawdust and repeating the same, cutesy phrases to please my douchebag owner; and do you know _why_ I feel like a parrot?"

"No."

"Because every time I talk to you, I say 'Darcy, if you'd just tell Lizzie the truth about Danny, I'm sure she'd change her mind about you'. I've probably uttered around fifty thousand variations of the same damn phrase for over a month now and you still haven't listened to me!"

"I've told you, I can't talk to her about this," Darcy said, exasperated.

"If you two don't fix your issues, you're going to be responsible for Jane, and I running out into traffic!"

Covering the receiver with the palm of her hand, Jane grinned and whispered to Charlie, "The parrot analogy was kinda genius."

"Thank you ma'lady," a beat, "no, Darcy, I wasn't talking to you."

"Yes, Lizzie, I'm listening." Jane pinched the bridge of her nose, presumably to keep herself from screaming. "Honey, of course I'm on your side – I _am_ your side, but I just want you to be reasonable here. Promise me that you'll stop making yourself miserable, okay? Okay?!"

"Okay," Lizzie mumbled like a put-out five-year-old.

"Now, I want you to get out of bed and walk around – explore Napa or something! I can't believe you've been in that huge house all this time and you haven't seen anything beyond your own bedroom."

"The bathroom's reasonably nice," Lizzie quipped.

"Get your ass out of bed, I mean it," Jane told her sternly.

"Promise me you'll tell Lizzie the truth," Charlie said as he restlessly flopped onto his back.

Darcy grunted. "Fine, fine I'll tell her."

"Oh, and Darce…"

"Lizzie…"

"One more thing…"

"Unless you've decided to break this vow to loathe Darcy for all eternity, or you've got something new to talk about…"

"Until you fix things with Lizzie…"

"Whatever you do…"

"For the love of _all_ that is holy…"

"STOP CALLING!" The exhausted couple simultaneously shouted and slammed their cell phones closed, wasting no time in turning them off and chucking them onto the nightstand.

Jane collapsed against Charlie's side, throwing an arm around his stomach she mumbled into the cotton of his T-shirt, "I almost wish they'd kill each other."

Hugging her tightly, he planted a reassuring kiss on the top of her head. "Don't worry; I'm having every phone line we own disconnected tomorrow."

"I knew I loved you."

* * *

Usually, when she pushed her elder sister to the breaking point – when Jane's hands alternated between the bridge of her nose and her hips and she'd uttered a good swear or two – Elizabeth was quick to amend whatever childish bit of shit she was on at the moment and return to the land of semi-adulthood. This time, however, Jane could not reasonably take credit for steering Lizzie back in the direction of maturity; nor could Charlotte (poor, unfortunate Charlotte) who had become the new victim of several piss and moan fests after the great Jane and Charlie ban on all contact.

The bedroom door creaked open enough to allow the slightly graying dark, curly head of Emily Reyes to poke itself inside. "Good morning, Starshine."

When it came to ridiculously wealthy families and their hired help, Emily Reyes was quite the anomaly. Back when the previous Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were just starting out their lives together, she was hired on as the young couple's maid by the groom's parents – a bizarre housewarming gift if there ever was one. Just two short years after she'd left Cuba, Emily had worked for many of California's finest families; scrubbing many of their fine floors and running after many of their 'fine' rat-faced offspring, and took the crap wages and under appreciation in stride. Working for Emma and Marcus Darcy, however, was a wholly different experience.

She wasn't treated like hired help, but something more along the lines of a friend who happened to clean their house three days a week. When Fitzwilliam and Georgiana came into the picture, Emily's role shifted completely and she very much became a second mother to the children when business and societal duties called away their biological one. The passing of Emma and then Marc signaled yet another new era in her employment; with Fitzwilliam off in LA handling all of Darcy Media's dealings, and Georgie in boarding school on the other side of the country, someone had to remain in Napa to watch over Pemberly. Seamlessly, Emily slipped into the role of managing the estate and was responsible for all of its side business ventures that included a wine label, horse stables, and a line of salad dressings (if Paul Newman could slap his face on a bottle of vinaigrette, so could Marcus Darcy).

Mrs. Reyes was as much a part of the Darcy family as those who had its blood coursing through their veins, and was the closest thing Lizzie would get to a mother-in-law. So, when she learned of their arrangement, and the subsequent unhappiness of the newest missus, Emily immediately befriended Lizzie, making sure to spend enough time with her to keep the poor girl from going completely crazy.

At the sound of the overly cheery voice, Lizzie carefully lifted the covers off of her head. "The earth says hello," she replied and her crooked smile quickly faded. "Wait, is he here?"

Chuckling, Mrs. Reyes took a seat on the end of the bed. "Now, what kind of newlywed can't stand the sight of her husband?"

"The contracted kind."

Shaking her head, the older woman said, "The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Fitzwilliam will be away all morning on business."

"Sweet!" Lizzie bolted upright at the news and tossed the blankets aside. "How about some Gears of War, today; Halo 3's getting kinda tired and those little kids can be really mean."

"I've got a better idea," she grinned.

That got her a wary look. "I don't think I trust you."

A hand flew to her chest and Mrs. Reyes gasped with mock dramatics. "How could you say such a thing, Lizzie?"

Brow arching, she said, "And how could the only forty-five year old woman I've ever known to use the phrase 'pwning noobs' pass on playing video games for an entire morning?"

Climbing to her feet, Mrs. Reyes grabbed Lizzie by the hands and attempted to yank her out of bed. "Humor me, yeah? Just this once?" At the sound of Lizzie's resolute sigh, she rolled her eyes and headed for the door. "I expect you downstairs in five minutes fully clothed, those ratty pajama bottoms _do not_ count as pants and a bra is _not_ optional." Her face broke out in a grin, "Comfortable shoes would also be in your best interest."

What began was a daily ritual; every morning Darcy would be mysteriously missing and Mrs. Reyes would appear in her room without the slightest intention of wasting time on Xbox Live. Instead, she would find some new area of Pemberly to drag Lizzie to, expounding on its history or purpose, and by the end of the second week of this tour, it was safe to say Lizzie had seen every inch of space the estate had to offer and met every last person it employed (effectively squashing those crazy hermit rumors the staff had been passing around). She found, that despite the smell, she loved the stables the most. Her affinity for it while possibly having to do with a deep, residual eight year-old desire to be a part of The Saddle Club, mostly it came from the beauty and serenity of the area. It was quiet for the most part, but she was okay with watching the busloads of inner city students come in for riding lessons, or listening in on the buyers and their high-priced haggling. So when she no longer needed Mrs. Reyes to show her around, Lizzie began venturing out on her own – iPod and a book in hand, nine times out of ten ending up propped against the outside of the stable's entrance.

And then, slowly and rather oddly, Darcy – he who had been so conveniently absent for so long, began to turn up more and more around Lizzie's favorite stomping ground. He spent time chatting up the stable hand, aiding in lessons, and seeming genuinely pleasant to everyone who wasn't her. He never acknowledged her presence or gave the slightest indication that he was aware they were existing in the same space until one particular day when the sky decided to open up and dump buckets on Napa Valley.

"Aw, crap," Lizzie muttered when the first rain drop hit her square on the head. Thunder and lightening rolled in seconds later and by the time she made it to her feet the rain was already coming down in droves. Sighing heavily she began the long walk back to the main house, with only a paperback to keep her 'dry'.

"Here!" Darcy had seemingly appeared out of nowhere at her side, his button up shirt in his outstretched hand.

Lizzie blinked. "Are you stalking me?!" she shouted over the rain.

Rolling his eyes, Darcy snatched the book out of her grasp and replaced it with his Polo. "You're welcome."

Not another word was spoken between the two until they reached the kitchen's back door; once inside, Lizzie quickly pulled the shirt from over her head. "Thanks, or whatever…" the garbled, half-hearted 'thank you' that spilled out of her mouth totally paled in comparison to the insult she'd originally planned on flinging his way, but the affront swiftly died a fiery death upon the sight of Darcy in a soaking wet T-shirt.

His dark hair curled slightly from the water while that plain, white shirt criminally clung to every muscle he possessed. In the back of her mind, Lizzie hoped Darcy would have acquired some sort of glaring physical flaw since their night together – a slightly doughy middle, maybe man boobs if God were smiling down on her, but no, he was cut long and lean, practically fucking perfect in every way and she was drooling in spite of herself.

Still standing near the door, Darcy kicked off his shoes and said over his shoulder, "You should go and get out of those wet clothes; wouldn't want you getting sick."

"Sure thing, Daddy," off of Darcy's look, Lizzie blushed before adding, "that was supposed to come out a lot more sarcastic and less sexual than it did…I'm just gonna go change now."

He smiled. "There's, some old shirts of mine in dryer, if you wouldn't mind bringing me one. I think there might be a pair of shorts in there, too if you don't want to go all the way upstairs."

"No problem," she mumbled.

"Laundry room's right through there…"

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm never gonna let you live down calling me, 'Daddy'."

A sigh, "I know that, too."

Lizzie emerged from the laundry room swimming in a Slayer T-shirt and gym shorts to find him shirtless and barefoot bent over, rummaging inside of the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, she silently struggled to push any and all dirty thoughts about Fitzwilliam Darcy out of her mind; okay, so the man was good-looking, if he wasn't anything other than beastly she wouldn't be knocked up – so there was no reason for her to ogle and stare at him as if she were Lydia, for Christ sake. Then again, it had been so very long…and she remembered that night so _very_ well…

"Can I show you something?" he asked, peeking up over the door.

Startled by the sound of his voice, Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin. "What?" she asked, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

Finally surfacing from the depths of the fridge with an apple in hand, Darcy grinned. "Wait, here," he said grabbing the T-shirt from her waiting mitts.

Moments later Darcy reappeared in the kitchen, this time fully dressed and with a photo album tucked under his arm. He slid onto a chair at the bar, motioning for Lizzie to do the same. "I think I've seen practically all of your baby pictures…"

Lizzie frowned. "My mom waited until I passed out, didn't she?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he chuckled. "You liked to be naked a lot, huh?"

"Hey," she began with a crooked smile and a shrug, "when you've got an ass that won't quit you can't help but show it off."

"Anyway, Mrs. Reyes brought some of this stuff down out of the attic the other day and I thought it was only fair that you get to see all of my awkward pictures."

Awkward didn't even begin to describe the photographs of Darcy throughout the various stages of his childhood; tall and lanky didn't go so well with a bowl cut, and knobby knees constantly on display in ill-fitting shorts. He never really smiled, more like painfully smirked, and his hair was always seemed to be in his eyes.

Lizzie snickered as she flipped the album's page. "You really loved those shorts…and Hypercolor T-shirts..."

Darcy narrowed his eyes. "Hey, did I say one word about your tendency to rock a side pony-tail; the 80's were cruel to us all."

"I don't think they were crueler to anyone more than you," she laughed.

Young, Fitzwilliam whom had clearly seen his fair share of playground ass beatings, was a stark contrast to the other two boys he was consistently pictured with. Richard's smile and overall gingerness was a dead giveaway, but the other kid…his features were too dark to be Bingley, and as far as Lizzie knew, Darcy had never really been capable of making any other friends.

As if reading her mind, Darcy put his finger on the boy with his arm slung around his shoulder. "That would be your good friend, Danny," he said flatly. "We grew up together."

She stiffened and the atmosphere in the room turned blisteringly cold. "Wow, that's quite ballsy of you. What, did my mom show you pictures of me and Amanda Becker?"

"Who the hell is Amanda Becker?" Darcy asked, puzzled.

"My bff up until the 7th grade when I made the major mistake of holding hands with her boyfriend," Lizzie said rather matter-of-factly, her eyes narrowing into slits, "I mean, I know my little indiscretion pales in comparison to starting a rumor about a friend and your own _mother_ because of your insane insecurity and jealousy, but since you're breaking out pictures of people you stabbed in the back, I was simply curious."

"My, _mother_?" Darcy blinked and made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat that was an unsettling cross between a scoff and a snarl. "Oh, that's real creative."

"It is, isn't it," she shot back. "Kudos to you."

Suddenly snatching up the album, he furiously flipped through to the back and practically shoved the book back at Lizzie. "Hypercolor and Max Headroom are suspiciously missing from this picture, so tell me, Lizzie how old do you think Danny and I are here?"

For quite possibly the first time in her life, Lizzie Bennet found herself totally speechless. The picture before her was clearly recent – Danny, beer in hand, once again had his arm slung around Darcy's shoulders. The casual, friendly demeanor of the two certainly didn't reek of two men who had fallen out years before over extremely nasty accusations.

"I…" she started but was brutally cut off by Darcy,

"This was taken last July at my bachelor party – that would make us both twenty four. Isn't it funny how Danny told you we never really got along and yet I made him my best man?" He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dampened hair. "Daniel Wickham was like a brother to me… fuck he _was_ my brother in every conceivable way, blood relation or not, so imagine _my_ surprise when I come home and find him on top of my fiancée. Ask Charles or Richard, they'll be more than happy to give you more details if my word isn't good enough."

Lizzie swallowed the hard lump that had painfully formed in her throat and hoped that somehow she could slide off of the chair and slither out of the room unnoticed. Darcy sat before her, literally shaking with anger and all she could do was put her head in her hands and feel like the world's biggest tool. She believed him, every single word and even more strangely, she felt compelled to find a way to make it all up to him.

"Wickham played you to get at me." And with a scoff as he stood, Darcy said, "He's the bestest friend you could ever hope for," before leaving a mute Lizzie behind to stew in her own thoughts.

* * *

_Author's Note: This was the chapter that did not want to end itself and unfortunately made me want to end __**myself**__. :(_


	22. Nose Over Tail

_Whatever happened to that silly dream you had?  
I want to make it real  
I'd love to rub your back  
Like a plane crash that never hits the ground  
I fall in love with you  
I'm nose over tail for you_

_Man, I __**love**__ Alkaline Trio._

* * *

**Nose over Tail**

**(month three)**

"Jane's, phone."

Lizzie's face scrunched up at the sound of Charlie's voice (which was surprisingly jovial for nine in the morning). Nothing against Mr. Bingley, but ever since she'd been clued in to the more rat bastard qualities of one, Daniel Wickham, Lizzie really needed the comforting words of her big sister to keep her from collapsing in shame and self disappointment.

"…Lizzie, I know it's you and I know you're there, because you're breathing kind of heavily. But, if you want, I'll hang up and you can call back – with the heavy breathing, and I'll pretend that my sensibilities have been offended."

She couldn't help but smile. "Sorry, Charlie, I'm not playing 'phone pervert' this morning, I was just surprised to hear your voice, that's all."

"Oh," he chuckled softly. "Well, Jane's already gone to the office, obviously she left her phone behind, but I'll be sure to tell her you called…"

And, the conversation would have ended there if not for a small thought that had birthed itself in the back of Lizzie's brain. This idea clawed its way past other, less important synapses such as, 'you're hungry', 'your foot itches', and 'you have to pee', in order to scream, "Hey, stupid! You've got Darcy's best friend on the phone, this is way better than Jane! If anyone can tell you how to fix things, it's him! Oh, and don't forget to cover the phone's mouthpiece so he doesn't hear the toilet flushing in the background"

"Um, Charlie," Lizzie began hesitantly, "do you mind if I asked you something?"

There was a long pause on his end. "He told you, didn't he? _Please _tell me he told you."

"So, Danny really is king of the assholes," she sighed.

"I'm thinking it's more along the lines of he's their god," Charlie supplied. "Darcy has a habit of holding things in until…well, until he can no longer stand being a sullen prick, or common sense blacks out and he punches a guy in the face. There's rarely an in between."

"I'm such a bitch."

"You're not that bad," he said reassuringly. "Darce is a complicated guy and it can take some time to get a sense of who he is – he doesn't exactly make it very easy."

"But, this is the one thing in the whole world he didn't deserve a hard time over and I beat it into the ground." Lizzie let out a frustrated sigh. "I held it over his head all because I needed to _not_ like him. Charlie, he hasn't said a word to me since that day. That's three whole weeks of awkward silence, and I don't even have the luxury of hanging out with Mrs. Reyes now that we're back in LA.I don't know what to do or what to say to somehow make this up to him."

There, was another pause on Charlie's end, but this one spoke of the deepest wisdom being pulled together, as if it were the kind of moment the Dali Lama would need to take before the most profound of sentences rolled off of his tongue. Lizzie unconsciously held her breath…

"Have you thought about apologizing?" Charlie asked and if she could have, she would've reached through the phone and strangled him to death. That was it?! She had agonized over this for weeks and the best answer he had was, "Say you're sorry, dude"?!

"Seriously? Are you kidding?" she grumbled.

"Nope, say you're sorry," he told her plainly. A beat, "Did you just flush the toilet?"

"That is beside the point," she quickly replied, "Charlie, I…"

"Think…" he began, cutting her off, "that I'm a big, old gullible piece of crap because I believed a slick lie crafted by the God of Assholes and Liars, and I won't be happy unless I decide to take up self flagellation, but I'm wrong. What I should really do, Charlie, is own my mistake to Darcy and start anew."

"Okay," Lizzie mumbled.

Charlie gave a skeptical snicker, "_Okay_?"

"Yes," sigh, "okay."

"Good."

Once upon a time, when they had managed to survive a veritable marathon of complaining from Darcy and Lizzie, Charlie, jokingly mentioned to Jane that talking to that pair was like talking to the same brick wall, but as he and Lizzie said their goodbyes he suddenly became convinced that this was fact. Honestly, he had never seen two people who were more alike that couldn't get it together long enough to realize it.

Tossing Jane's phone aside, he yawned as he pulled the bed's covers over his head, "…_Really_ starting to hope they kill each other."

* * *

"Ow…goddammit! Ow…ow…son of a bitch, mother fuck…!"

Operation Peacemaker didn't exactly get off to the smoothest of starts, what with Darcy managing to disappear for whole days on supposed business, but hey the hardest part was already out of the way. Lizzie knew he may have been the undisputed champion of putting his foot in his mouth, but tragic awkwardness was hardly a qualifier for worst person in the world and at least she'd acknowledged that her behavior had been just shy of "total cow".

She was determined to know him, _really_ know him, but this time she wouldn't have a cloud of prejudice hanging over her head.

It was a rare thing to find Darcy home in the morning, but on the day she decided to put her potentially disfiguring plan into action, he was there hiding out in his study. Since he loved to cook, she thought food could be their great equalizer – that maybe he would appreciate the gesture of a complete microwave queen going to the trouble of cooking breakfast.

Lizzie swore loudly as she held her poor, burnt hand under the cool stream of water; naturally when she came up with this awesome, brilliant idea she'd conveniently forgotten she was an _awful_ cook.

"You know, there is easier ways to burn my house down. I'm just saying."

The look on Lizzie's face when she whipped her head around to find Darcy radiating smug from the kitchen doorway should have been accompanied by a snake rattle. "Oh, you know what, screw you!" she shouted over the sound of running water. "I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry about Danny and about judging you without even hearing your side, but I'm trying to apologize here and you're standing there smirking – and, and I burnt my hand, and the goddamn stupid eggs, and you don't even care!"

Darcy let out a snort.

Red flashed in her eyes. "Yeah, laugh it up, dickhead!"

He closed the gap between them, now looming over this incredibly pissed off, little pregnant woman. Lizzie's chest rapidly rose and fell, her good hand curled into a fist at her side, and she was ready to put her playground tested right-hook back into business when she curiously noticed Darcy's eye line led directly to her lips.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, stopped, and kissed her instead. It was quick, just the simple pressing of his lips to hers, but it was enough to douse a situation that surely called for the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad siren to sound.

They remained in silence for what seemed like an eternity, Darcy's hand lingering on Lizzie's cheek. He cleared his throat and attempted a smile, "I should have told you the truth about Danny sooner; we were supposed to be completely upfront about our lives, especially the major parts, and I wasn't. I'm sorry." The hand on her cheek moved to tuck a tousled strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm also sorry for any potential awkwardness my kissing you just now may create, but the scene I walked in on was more adorable than a barrel full of puppies, and you're kind of gorgeous when you're angry."

Alright, that was absolutely not fair; he didn't get to pretend she didn't exist for weeks on end, then kiss her, tell her she's gorgeous, top it all off with a shit-eating grin, and expect things to be magically better! She was still pissed off and her hand still hurt, but her insides had been sufficiently liquefied, thus making this a battle, logic would not win.

Lizzie blinked and desperately tried to remember how to form sentences. "Sorry…I am…too?" Fiercely shaking her head, she quickly corrected herself, "I mean, I'm sorry, too."

"Can I see your hand?" Darcy asked and she held up the damp, injured mitt. "It's just a surface burn," he said with a grin.

She shrugged. "To, my pain receptors every degree of 'it fucking hurts' is the same."

"Fair enough," he laughed. "So, you spent six months working in a restaurant and you can't cook?"

"Hey, I was a _server_ in a restaurant for six months; absolutely no food preparation involved – with good reason."

Darcy cocked an eyebrow. "…and your mother…" he began.

A snicker, "You really think the woman with the 'Juicy' pants can do anything in a kitchen besides microwave a Healthy Choice meal? Dad's pretty good with the burgers and steaks, but my first words were 'take out'."

"Well, despite the burnt ass smell permeating my kitchen, I am pretty hungry."

Lizzie's face cracked with a wide smile. "There is one thing I can cook, but you have to be totally open minded."

He gave her a look. "Exactly what do you mean by totally?"

"Richard was right," she laughed, "you are so weird and snobby when it comes to eating."

"I am not!" he whined.

"So you're totally open, then?" she smirked.

He nodded firmly but there was a good amount of fear in his eyes.

"Okay, then – pork or chicken?"

"What?"

Brown eyes rolled heavenward. "This is not a trick question, pork or chicken?"

"Um, chicken?" Darcy uttered while curiously scratching his head.

"Alright," Lizzie clapped her hands, "go have a seat in the living room and eagerly anticipate a feast for the senses."

A quick and nervous look was shot in the direction of the colossal mess as Darcy reluctantly made his way out of the kitchen.

* * *

"It's got a sort of pleasant…_rubbery _taste."

Darcy's home nestled in the midst of a Hollywood Hills gated community that could put Fort Knox to shame, carried the stereotypical cool elegance you'd expect when the numbers in the price tag come equipped with more than one comma. Pristine, polished, much more like a museum rather than a living space, and Lizzie often found herself afraid to touch anything, believing that just her middleclass finger print would drive the value down; yet here she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of this plush, white carpeting, draped in dirty sweats and a T-shirt with a bowl of Ramen Noodles in her lap.

Memories of having the exact same meal with Charlotte in their first apartment flooded her mind, "This is so much nicer without the cockroaches," she giggled.

"What?" Darcy asked.

"Nothing," she smiled. "Yeah, the beauty of Ramen lies within the slightly rubbery taste. It should be gross, but somehow it ends up being completely awesome."

Chuckling, he took another bite. "You know, it doesn't even taste like it could be related to chicken and I don't mind." Reaching over, he switched her bowl out with his. "How many flavors are there?"

"I'm not sure, but its loads of things you wouldn't expect your noodles to taste like, and all for about thirty-five cents a pack. You should get your friends in on the action."

Darcy snorted loudly and off of Lizzie's look said, "Sorry, I just pictured Caroline being told it costs thirty-five cents."

She laughed.

"While this turned out pretty good and I applaud you on your insta-meal skills…"

"Thank you, sir."

"…Would you mind if from now on, I did all of the cooking?" he grinned.

Lizzie threw up her hands. "Hey man, knock yourself out; my limbs will thank you for it. Speaking of new norms around this place," she began hesitantly with her eyes decidedly fixed on the remaining noodles floating around her bowl, "this kissing me when I'm adorable thing, is that going to be a regular occurrence?"

"Do you want it to be?"

All of the color in her body drained itself and reformed in her cheeks. Lizzie bit her lip and slowly met his intense gaze, "Maybe."

Darcy's indifferent expression was split with a wide, boyish smile that instantly made her laugh.

* * *

_Sorry this chapter came so late; I deleted everything I had written and started over (several times). I can be stupidly obsessive about these things and that can mean delays, which sucks. But, I'm much happier with what I've got now than with what it started out as and I hope you all liked it as well. _


	23. The Church of Hot Addiction

_Author's Note: Hello, all! I'm splitting this chapter in two to give you some newness to chew on until life calms down for me just a bit. I have a break from school the first week of October that I'll be using to catch up on this story. If the second half of this doesn't hit ff . net by Halloween, it'll be early November. Thanks for being so understanding and supportive of this story – I wouldn't have made it this far if it weren't for you guys. _

_**The Church of Hot Addiction**_

**(month three cont'd)**

"Good morning, Sarah!"

It was the sound of his chipper voice on the other end of the line that had done her in completely. Sarah had come to expect certain constants from Mr. Darcy in the nine months she'd spent in his employment and chipper was nowhere near the vicinity – chipper, as a matter of fact, was more like in Yemen.

It was the melancholy and infinite sadness of Fitzwilliam Marcus Darcy that admittedly made her feel loads better about her life in those moments when she found herself alone and prone to irritating meditations on her existence. If her sister was being a know-it-all pain in the ass, or if her mother was yet again speechifying on why her current loser boyfriend _was_ in fact, a loser, it was okay. At least she was nowhere near as broken and beaten as Mr. Darcy, and that was something.

Then the great disaster with Danny Wickham happened. Just when Sarah thought she couldn't hit a bottom so low that eating her feelings wouldn't even be an option anymore, Mr. Darcy was suddenly happy?! Stupidly happy?!

Habit dictated that the man should walk into the room, trudge past her desk with a scowl and the very essence of "I'd rather be dipped in acid" wafting off his person. So, it was a shock of epic, heart attack proportions when he began greeting her and striking up chats. He _smiled_ for Christ's sake, and didn't order her to hold all of his calls.

It was as depressing as it was bizarre.

Here was Darcy, her barometer for "well, thank Jesus it doesn't suck that bad", practically bouncing off the walls, and she wanted to be happy for him. Desperately, so; but she was still silly enough to call Danny every other day with the hopes he'd pick up and when she wasn't, she was busy making herself sick over all of the information on Mr. Darcy she'd dropped. Seeing her boss so blissful put a big, ole' halt on her plan to come clean to him – yeah, she didn't want to risk her job, but the thought of harshing Darcy's buzz was almost too painful to bear.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Sarah replied as cheerily as she could muster.

Mr. Darcy was taking the day off and told her to do the same (despite the multitude of things she needed to schedule and pick up for him), and as Sarah hung up the phone to begin packing up her belongings, the decision to hold her tongue on the subject of Mr. Wickham was firm.

* * *

Darcy tucked the cell phone into his pocket and turned his attention back to the very scene that had inspired his decision to call out of work that day. Lizzie was currently busting a move in their kitchen; earbuds shoved in securely and the volume on maximum, she had absolutely no idea her dance routine had an audience…that is until she turned around to grab a cereal bowl from the cabinet.

"Holy shit!" Lizzie screeched and practically jumped ten feet in the air. Darcy was doubled over with laughter by the time she finally got her bearings, and she yanked the buds out of her ears. "You need a collar with a bell on it," she said frowning.

"Aw," he began, his laughter subsiding, "you _still_ wouldn't have heard me."

"So embarrassing…" Lizzie muttered as she headed for the cabinet, "I thought you'd left for work."

"I took the day off." he grinned.

"Oh, wonderful," was her sarcastic reply and Darcy chuckled, "You'll live down the fact that you like Cobra Starship one day. I'm sure of it."

Glancing over her shoulder, Lizzie quirked a brow, "You should not know that band."

"I have a seventeen year old, hipster sister."

"…Who you barely see because she lives on the other side of the country," she snorted, "nice try."

"I…liked _Snakes on a Plane_," he offered and Lizzie laughed. "I am allowed at least one guilty pleasure – tell Richard and I'll kill you."

She nodded. "Your secret's safe with me."

Darcy hung back against the kitchen entrance, arms casually folded and gaze decidedly fixed on Lizzie as she poured out a bowl of Lucky Charms for herself. Sensing she was being stared at, she faced him. "What are you doing?"

The smile that snaked its way onto his lips was quite lascivious. "Waiting on you to get over here."

Blushing furiously, Lizzie made her way over to him – dry cereal in hand. "You've seriously got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" His was now the picture of innocence.

"I've found that most men," she popped a marshmallow into her mouth, "use all of their smooth moves with a girl from the beginning. When you go from being awkward to smooth, it's super disconcerting."

Darcy shrugged. "I'm not like most men."

"I'm realizing this." Lizzie smiled and tapped her lips with her forefinger. "I believe you owe me one for that little display earlier; there's no way that _wasn't_ adorable."

Laughing, he straightened himself up and looked her directly in the eye. "When you least expect it – all day I owe you."

In her experience with men (see: **Archie the Thief, Danny the Meth lab Technician, and Nate the Drummer**), Lizzie had never come across someone who had the ability to send her from one extreme to the other with seemingly no middle ground. Now that Darcy wasn't specializing in new and interesting ways to piss her off, it appeared as though he were aiming to get her heart to pound so hard it broke through her chest. Lizzie was suddenly all palpitations and sweaty palms; if she had a seventh period to attend, 'Mrs. Elizabeth Michelle Darcy' would have been doodled in every margin of every notebook she owned.

Disconcerting was most definitely the right word.

She held his gaze and exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Very, smooth."

Grinning, Darcy followed her out of the kitchen. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the rest of the day," he told her, flopping down on the couch. "So, Lizzie, what is it that you do while I'm gone?"

Shoveling a handful of cereal in her mouth, she said, "For starters I'm going to have to cancel the party."

"Ha, ha," Darcy rolled his eyes. With a sideways look he added, "Do you want some milk for that?"

"Oh, god no." Lizzie shook her head. "Milk and I have become mortal enemies as of late; this is better, no gross consequences."

He pulled a face. "I…kinda hate that I asked."

Having commandeered the television remote, Lizzie furiously flipped through the channels until she landed on Nickelodeon and without a word she kicked back against a very confused Darcy.

"You…" he started hesitantly and scratched his head, "watch Dora the Explorer while I'm gone?"

"Only for the past couple days," she plainly stated.

"Sorry," he snickered, "I thought it was your _twenty-seconded _and not your second birthday coming up."

"Hey, our child is going to be eating this stuff up which means while you're off being a figurehead, I'm going to be stuck with creepy puppets and cartoons all day. I've gotta know what I'm up against."

"You're conditioning?" he asked, clearly amused.

"Darcy, I've reached the point to where I can't see my feet," Lizzie sighed, "it's time for a little preparedness."

"Preparedness? You sound like Smokey the Bear."

"Oh, you have no idea!" she said enthusiastically. "I've been thinking about diaper genies and buggy bouncers, and crib mobiles that light up and play music versus those that don't, adding an intercom to the baby's room, possible themes for the baby's room, whether or not we should go ahead and get those little plastic outlet cover thingies or wait until the actual crawling – threat of electrocution stage…"

He listened intently to Lizzie's giddy ramble finding it all absolutely amazing. It wasn't so long ago that the mere mention of the word 'baby' sent her scrambling in the other direction; sure they had had conversations, but those were few and far in between, and despite the now basketball size of her stomach, Lizzie seemed content with ignoring the existence of the very thing that had brought them together. Now she was talking excitedly about onesies and he had to admit it was infectious.

"….These thoughts just came out of nowhere. Seriously, I woke up and it was like my entire brain had been consumed by 'baby'. I don't even know what a diaper genie is, but I think we need one."

Darcy pressed his nose to her hair. "I will fill this entire house with diaper genies if you want me to."

She giggled, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"You wouldn't _believe _how often it works." Lips now hovering near Lizzie's ear, Darcy said, "You're going to have to think of something to do after Dora's rousing adventure is over. It's all up to you; I'm completely at your disposal, Elizabeth."

Lizzie nearly forgot how to swallow as his words and their many connotations rang throughout her head.

Disconcerting was the perfect way to describe it.


	24. Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk

_Author's Note: I always thought things would have gone considerably smoother in P&P if Bingley had told Darcy to "fuck off" when it came to Jane :). Also, there are a couple transitions from past to present and vice versa – they're denoted with __**xx**__'s instead of a chunk of italics. I wanted it to be smooth, but please let me know if it reads choppy or if you have any suggestions for a way I could improve that when I edit this._

_Haha, and one last note, it was strangely hard for me to keep it clean in this chapter, but I did my best. Hopefully, no one is offended. _

_

* * *

  
_

_**Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk**_

"You wanna dance?"

When the conversation lulled and her friend (…what's her face, Cheryl? No? Charo? Probably not, but whatever – couldn't remember, couldn't dredge up enough give-a-care to even try) left to, quote "go get her dance on" end quote, Darcy decidedly sank within himself.

The alcohol coursing through his system, was busy massaging the more reflective parts of his mind forcing an unwanted, good and hard look at all of his broken bits and the demons that hung around in the fragments. He was sloshed enough to admit that he was terribly, achingly lonely. It was a hilarious feeling to have considering the fact he was almost never alone these days. Georgie was still in town, entertaining thoughts of giving up Exeter for a school on the west coast (he'd never let her, of course). Mrs. Reyes had all but moved in after his father's funeral. The burning wreckage that was he and Eva only served to give her more of an incentive to stay and shove huevos rancheros down his throat. Richard, Maggie, and the kids or a combination of the four, dropped by almost daily, Charlie as well – with his heinous sisters in tow.

The company, however much adored, wasn't what he wanted – _who_ he wanted. His father's death left a gaping whole that only widened with Wickham and Eva's betrayal, and Darcy was trying to repair it as best he could.

"Hello, earth to…oh crap, what was your name again?"

It was kind of like filling the Grand Canyon one bucket of sand at a time, absolutely fruitless. He'd never been very good at picking healthy coping mechanisms anyway so drinking and screwing his way back to some semblance of self seemed as good an idea as any. Besides, this method did have its benefits: some alcoholic beverages tasted like liquid candy going down, and he never had to waste more than two sentences to see a girl naked…except for, maybe, tonight.

This girl, this Lizzie, was different. Okay, so her club-going outfit was clearly from Target, she drank like a fish, she swore far too much, and from the looks of (Cheryl? Charo?) she had tragic taste in friends. Even if he were one of those sad fuckers who actually believed an atmosphere ripe with mojitos and the Soulja Boy dance made the best conditions for finding the love of your life, he would never consider Lizzie. Though very witty and certainly beautiful, she was obviously a girl of meager means – probably an actress for Christ's sake – seriously dating her was out of the question. However, a burning desire to find out if the 'curtains' matched the 'carpet' would not allow him to rule out a casual fling.

Lizzie seemed to have no idea who he was and that was always good. Also, maybe it was the lighting, but there was something about her eyes. Far be it from him to wax poetic about anyone, never mind a stranger, it was just…this pair of eyes was oddly comforting…

Those eyes were also looking at him expectantly with a slightly annoyed edge. Oh, damn. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" he sputtered, hoping the strobe lights concealed his blush.

Looking genuinely concerned, Lizzie asked, "Are you okay? I mean, you've been staring at that Corona for about ten minutes now and it didn't seem as if you were contemplating the hops."

"No, I'm fine," Darcy shook his head. "I just didn't hear you."

"Oh," she attempted to perk up but failed rather miserably and Darcy almost apologized for allowing his shit mood to rub off on others. "I was asking if you wanted to dance."

"_God_, no!" the words shot past his lips before he could think, and he cringed his way through another apology. "I didn't mean it like that…"

"It's cool, I'll just be limping back to my bell tower now," she said smiling crookedly.

"I don't dance," he laughed. "Not even a little; my parents, though, exceptional people were very, _very_ white and lacked anything resembling rhythm."

She eyed him curiously and moved her chair closer to his. "Oh, okay I get it."

Darcy raised a brow. "…Get what, exactly?"

"This is as much your scene as it is mine only you're pushy-friend free. So, you don't dance and you probably don't enjoy paying eight dollars per beer, but you're here for a purpose; you're here cause it's easy, right? I mean, _look_ at you – if that Omega watch wasn't a gold digger homing beacon you'd still have the bonus of being hands down, the best looking guy in the room. Hell, I bet your smile is capable of snapping off a bra from thirty miles away."

Laughing loudly, Darcy found himself inching nearer to Lizzie. "Are you implying that I've come here tonight with less than honorable intentions?"

"All I'm saying," Lizzie began as she took a sip of her tequila sunrise, "is that in an everyday world without all of the strobe lights and hipster crap, you are probably a very good man. I think you may be a good man, but tonight and definitely right now – because you're kinda staring down my shirt – you are not full of good man intentions." She finished off her drink and added with a shrug, "But, that's okay because my own intentions for the night took a turn at skanky like an hour ago."

He smiled, and put his lips to her ear. "I only dance if forced, Lizzie."

**xx**

Lizzie stirring in her sleep provided the break Darcy needed from his own mind; the sudden onset of memories of that night dissolved as he gazed down at the woman currently using his lap for a pillow.

She'd fallen asleep during The Wiggles leaving him all alone with early morning TV programming and memories he'd rather have at bay. He didn't regret the events or actions instead it was his own thought process that left him wincing. How could he have ever thought, even for a second, that she wasn't good enough for the likes of him? He really was a colossal snob sometimes.

Lizzie's eyes flickered open to meet his and she stretched lazily making sure to curl her bare toes into the couch cushions. "Have you gone Edward Cullen on me?" she asked with a tired grin.

"Edward Cullen?"

Pulling herself into a more upright position, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "My little sister's literary boyfriend," she chuckled, "he's a bit of a watcher – total creeper when you think about it."

Darcy's expression remained puzzled. "Lydia has a literary boyfriend?"

That earned him a full on guffaw, complete with snorts, and when Lizzie managed to find her breath she said, "It's adorable that you think Lydia would read for fun. No, no he belongs to Mary." Still giggling she pressed her forehead to Darcy's shoulder. "Sorry, I just imagined an entire wedding decorated by Hot Topic."

Her smile wavered when she was met with Darcy's rather serious looking face. "What's the matter?" She tilted her head. "God, I hope you didn't continue to watch The Wiggles on my behalf because I'm not letting our child anywhere _near_ that. I dreamt that I gave birth to four grown men in brightly colored shirts…"

Wordlessly he placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. Slowly his lips moved with hers – not playful as usual, but gentle with much to convey. Darcy pulled away but his hands remained. "I have no regrets when it comes to you," he stated simply. "I just needed you to know that. And for as long as you want me, I will do everything that I can to be good enough for you; I'm really glad that you ended up in my life, Lizzie, I only wish it had of been sooner. It might've been, if I were a smarter man."

His earnestness, like a lot of his actions these days, caught her off guard. The sheer vulnerability that shone in his eyes would have normally been enough to shake her if it had not been accompanied by the weight of a certain unspoken phrase. She knew he wouldn't say it now. Those words would remain safely locked behind his teeth until he felt she was ready to hear them.

Still, Lizzie struggled to find her voice. "It was me who never called, remember?" she told him softly with an attempt at levity.

"Yes, but it was me who gave you the business card with the fake number on it." His smile turning to laughter off of her look, he added, "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"My, my, weren't you a well prepared asshole," she scoffed. "And see at the time I wondered why I kept getting Peking Express in Escondido when I dialed that number. Jane was right it had nothing to do with how hard I mashed the buttons."

He cringed and Lizzie patted the top of his head. "It's okay, Darcy; that was the day I trekked all the way down to your office in the rain."

"I deserved way more than a slap that day."

"You did," she nodded, "and that's why Charlotte placed a call to her cousin in Louisiana. Nikki's into voodoo and she swore she'd give you a permanent case of whiskey dick – just a drop of alcohol is supposed to do it, you don't even have to be drunk…"

Darcy choked. "You _are_ joking, right?!"

Lizzie merely smiled, albeit evilly, and rose to her feet. "How long was I out for? We're totally wasting the day!"

"Lizzie…you weren't serious, yes…?"

"I'm gonna go take a shower," she said completely ignoring his panicked questions. "You should probably change into something less business-y while I'm gone."

"_Lizzie_!"

And with that, she practically danced her way out of the room.

* * *

Her gaze traveled from her reflection in the bathroom mirror, to the tube of lipstick in her hand, and back again. Cherry Passion #95 had been such a horrid color on her, and besides, she'd fished it off of a clearance rack at Walgreen's once upon a time ago – it wasn't as if she were sacrificing one of the god's of Sephora or anything. Now, leaning rather uncomfortably over the sink, face closer to the glass, Lizzie began scrawling:

**Reasons Why I Shouldn't Like Darcy**

**Lacks certain delicate brain to mouth communication **

EXAMPLE A: "I don't know why you're complaining about not being able to see your feet, Lizzie. It's not like you spent the last six months eating your weight in cheetos. Wait, oh god, don't cry that was supposed to make you feel better!"

**Is a total snob **

EXAMPLE B: "I really hope you were joking when you picked out that Will Ferrell movie"

EXAMPLE C: "I'm just saying, I've known Charles for years and he falls so easily, and Jane's polite to be sure, but I just don't see her feelings for him. Is it wrong that I think he should be absolutely sure about her before getting in too deep? Especially when your family comes with the package…can you put the shoe down? I'm only being honest"

**Likes metal, without the irony. **

**Is a meddler **

EXAMPLE D: "Okay, so maybe I suggested to Charlie that he and Jane should take a break. If it makes you feel better, he told me to fuck off"

EXAMPLE E: "Give me just a minute; I'm finishing up some college apps for Georgie. What? It's for her own good."

…

Lizzie took a second to step back, examine her handy work and run over the myriad of irritating character flaws that made up her 'husband', and then the bathroom door creaked open. Startled, she turned to find Darcy's furrowed brow peeking around the corner.

"Lizzie, I…"

"Forgot how to knock?" she snapped.

Upon seeing she was fully dressed, he entered the room. "I didn't hear the shower running, what are you doing?"

Awkwardly she shrugged and rolled down the tube of lipstick. "I, uh well sometimes…" she stumbled as Darcy eyed the mirror with an unreadable expression.

"There's nothing wrong with liking metal," he said flatly.

"I get this strange compulsion to make lists. It's only when I have a big decision ahead of me or maybe something in my life has changed. I, guess it's my way of reconciling a part of myself – making that decision a little less scary. I did one about why I shouldn't pursue acting, why I shouldn't move in with Jane, why I shouldn't have a baby…"

"And, do you always write them on bathroom mirrors?"

"Oh," she chuckled, "no, see I have to write them down and I was already in here without a pen and paper. Don't worry, I'll clean it off." Lizzie ran a nervous hand through her red locks. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. You weren't supposed to see this."

Darcy was ramrod straight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Oh, I see," he said in clipped voice.

"Because number five would've been, 'too sensitive and jumps to conclusions'."

"So, this is your opinion of me?"

"Yes," Lizzie nodded with a smile, grabbing the bottom of his oxford and pulling him closer. "You are absolutely all of these things, on top of being selfless, loyal, caring, hilarious, sexy – you have no idea how goddamn hard it is for me to be under the same roof with you! All I do all day is struggle to not combust while you manage to look at me as if I'm the only girl in the world and still be cool and disarming." She gestured towards the mirror, "This was just my really childish way of accepting the fact that I'm falling for the very man I swore to loathe for all eternity."

"Five Reasons Why _I_ Shouldn't Like Lizzie Bennet, by Will Darcy," he quoted as the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, "One: she's a waitress posing as an actress." Darcy placed a kiss on her forehead. "Two: she's middle class," he said kissing the tip of her nose. "Three: her mother and younger sisters are beyond ridiculous." His lips pressed against her cheek. "Four: she hits _very_ hard," he chuckled in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. "Five," he whispered as his mouth moved to the smooth skin of her neck, "she's so fucking stubborn and I think she hates me so it's pointless to pine away for her." He added after a pause, "I also make lists, but I like to scribble them on my meeting notes. It pisses Denny off."

With her arms now wrapped around his waist, she pouted. "There's nothing wrong with being middle class."

Darcy pointed at the mirror just over Lizzie's shoulder. "Reason number two," he laughed as he bent down to finally capture her lips.

**xx **

"Do you make a habit of whisking strange women away to your house? I'm curious, because this really isn't a norm for me," Lizzie found herself babbling while Darcy worked on the buttons to her blouse. "I mean, I know I made that whole spiel about having skanky intentions, but I'm really not, you know…a skank."

At the sight of her front-clasping bra he lifted his head and met her eyes with an amused expression, and a raised eyebrow. "Wow, _that's_ convenient."

Mortified, she groaned and put her hands over her face. "Supreme laziness does not equal skanky."

He grinned, leaning in to kiss her. "I'll take your word for it."

"No, really!" Lizzie now propped herself up on the bed effectively leaving Darcy hovering mid-pucker. "There's such a production involved with putting on a bra that I would rather just cut to the chase, and you never answered my question."

"I wouldn't call it a habit and you're not that strange." He hitched her legs up around his waist, a smug smile forming on his lips at the playful yelp his action elicited from her. "I have a question for you; do you talk, as a rule, while having sex?"

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "I prefer to be totally silent and stiff as a board. I'll just close my eyes and recite the Declaration of Independence in my head." Darcy laughed at that and once again attempted to kiss her only to be again thwarted by Lizzie's desire to talk, "Last question, I promise…"

"Jesus, aren't you an inquisitive one," he sighed.

Lizzie smiled sweetly. "You do have a condom, right?"

"Of course," he told her as he reached across the bed to yank open the nightstand drawer. What greeted him was an empty box of Durex with a lone wrapper crumpled in the corner. Oh, that was just fucking wonderful. Normally, Darcy would have sucked it up and made the mood-killing trip down to the nearest drugstore, but the picture Lizzie painted – top undone, skirt haphazardly bunched up, and he between her thighs, was having strange affects on his judgment skills.

Whatever, he was an experienced guy that knew his body and he wouldn't let things get too far.

Darcy's utterance of "Nothing to worry about" was the last sentence that didn't contain the words '_oh_', '_yes_', and '_god_', that would pass between the two for the rest of the night.

**xx**

"Oh, god!" Lizzie cried out and slapped her hands over her eyes.

"What – what's wrong?" Darcy jumped, having been startled back to his present situation with Elizabeth. It was funny; the two of them had seemed to move from the relatively cramped quarters of her bathroom, to the expanse of her bedroom quickly and without missing a beat.

It was also funny that it took a mere glimpse at a bra that clasped in the front to jog his memory.

"You think I'm hideous, don't you? That's why you stopped," she sniffed clearly holding back the flood her out-of-whack hormones were ready to unleash on him.

Darcy's eyes widened. "_No_! Lizzie, you're gorgeous! I just…"

"I'm fat."

"_Yo, Lizzie, get your butt down here! I'm starving!"_

"Is that…Charlotte?" he asked with a look and was treated to the sound of snorting snot in return.

"Oh, I forgot about Charlotte," she sobbed. "We're supposed to have lunch and you're not supposed to _be_ here today."

"_Lizzie! Hello! If I catch you sleeping at one in the afternoon, I swear to God, I'm dipping your hand_ _warm water and sharpie-ing 'balls' on your forehead, I mean it!"_

"How did she get in the gate…and subsequently into my house?"

"I gave her the pass code and a key; I fall asleep a lot more easily these days and I didn't want her waiting around…and now she has to wait around, because I haven't even showered yet, and you're mad, aren't you? I can tell that you are!"

Lizzie was teetering on the edge of hysterical and Darcy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Her emotions these days were a veritable rollercoaster and he was sure a giggle would end with the nearest object being thrown at his head.

He gently wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. C'mon, stop crying; I'll go and keep Charlotte company while you take a shower, okay?"

She loudly sniffed. "Okay."

* * *

"Oh hey, Darcy!" Charlotte greeted him from her rather relaxed position on his couch. She absently munched on a bowl of dry Lucky Charms – apparently, Lizzie's milk-less cereal habit was rubbing off. "I didn't know you were here."

"I took the day off."

She nodded. "Sorry for barging in, but I'm supposed to have lunch with your reluctant wife this afternoon…"

"I know; she's upstairs getting ready."

Eyeing him closely, Charlotte's lips twisted into a huge smile. "Although, I'm beginning to question just how reluctant she is nowadays," she popped a marshmallow into her mouth, "you missed a button by the way."


	25. Snitches and Talkers

_**Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers**_

_Life & Style_ was never really his cup of tea – it lacked all of the important features of an entertaining magazine, like bare breasts and centerfolds, but this specific issue caught his eye:

_America's Sweethearts_

_An in depth look at the whirlwind romance of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy._

By all appearances the article was your standard puff piece; it was an exclusive with basically anyone who'd ever remotely come into contact with Darcy and Lizzie (the sort of thing that reeked of journalistic desperation when the actual subject(s) of the piece refused to be interviewed). There were words from some of Lizzie's former co-workers, from her best friend, her mother, Darcy's cousin Richard, and to his surprise Georgiana – who Darcy practically stowed away in an underground bunker just to keep the press off of her.

It was touching, really: Fitzwilliam, still nursing a broken heart from his break up with model, Eva Lane, reluctantly agreed to be setup on a blind date with Lizzie (orchestrated by their mutual friend, Charlotte Lucas). Bird's chirped happily, deer and other various cutesy woodland creatures frolicked, the hills were alive with the sound of music – _oh_, it was love. Their courtship was brief, with the couple tying the knot a mere two months after taking their relationship public, and then of course came the happy announcement that Elizabeth was pregnant. She'd gone a whole five months with nary a clue (and there was a very amusing anecdote from her mother about how they all thought, "she had just gotten a bit fat").

For the life of him, Wickham could not recall ever having seen such a large amount of horseshit contained in one place. The public would eat it up and he was more than willing to let those who based their entire life's happiness on the trials of celebrities keep their fairytale dream. Once upon a time, though, he'd gotten off on the idea of being the one to break the news of Fitzwilliam's great scam; watching the Prince Regent of the Darcy Empire crushed under the weight of such a scandal would have been better than sex and the opportunity had practically fallen into his lap. But, Wickham had a penchant for blowing his load way too quickly, and decided on celebrating a victory over that pompous shithead that had yet to come. A trip to Vegas and a buy in into an exclusive, high-stakes poker game was in hindsight, a deeply stupid idea, one that required he break the lease on his apartment, shut off his cell phone, and pay a surprise two month visit to his Nana Lucille in Kansas (where he was a hit at the Shady Groves Retirement Home backgammon tables).

The door creaked open enough to allow a bald head to poke itself around the frame and Wickham casually tossed the magazine to the side.

"Shane says he'll see you now," the bald man grunted in a heavy Boston accent.

Wickham rose to his feet and made sure to flash an unaffected smile as he walked into the room because the worst thing he could do at this moment would be to let on just how close he was to passing out from fear. "Long time no see, man. How've you been?"

The coolly imposing figure with his feet casually propped up on the desk let the corner of his lips jerk upwards in a bizarre state in between a smile and a sneer. "I can't complain. You look taller somehow, Danny. Pat, does Danny look taller to you?"

The bald man, who'd positioned himself like a statue in the corner of the room, ran his beady, black eyes over Wickham. "People always seem taller when you haven't seen them for a while. I'm thirty four years old and my mom always thinks I've gotten taller."

Shane gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm inclined to believe that Danny here is still a growing boy, he's so baby-faced. I trust you're in good health?"

Wickham nodded. "How's the wife and the kid?"

"Peachy keen," he told him with a toothy grin, "April and I are thinking of trying for another one since Lola's started kindergarten, and when are you going to cut the shit and hand over my money?"

"Shane, I…"

"Unless the following words out of your mouth are 'Shane, I have your $500,000' I don't want to hear it. That is a substantial amount of money…"

"A colossal amount," Pat dryly supplied from his corner.

"_That_ is not the sort of debt a man can just let go unpaid," Shane continued, "I'm sure you understand, Danny. I mean, it's nothing personal – it's just the way this business works. If I gave every guy a pass and let him welsh on a bet, this bad ass mother fucker image of mine would be impossible to maintain."

Wickham swallowed. Hard. "Right, I understand…I just needed a little time, that's all, but I will have your money to you _real, real_ soon."

Pat grunted, "I think you should make him pinky swear."

"Yes, that's a good idea, Patty," Shane said enthusiastically and motioned for Wickham to come closer. Placing his elbow down on the desktop, he stuck his own pinky finger up in the air. "C'mon then, Danny."

Reluctantly Wickham did as he was told; elbow on the desktop he slowly raised his pinky, and in one, swift motion, Shane snapped the digit back filling the room with a sickening pop and screams of pain.

"The next time you grace me with your presence, I better have some sort of fucking payment in my fucking hands!" He growled. "Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

As Wickham and his poor, broken finger made their way to the nearest E.R. he resigned himself to the fact that he may never get another chance to tap dance on the remnants of Darcy's perfect image. He'd never quite gotten a hold of the smoking gun, the contract, and without it no one else was buying. A great setback to his original plans to be sure, but on the bright side, all he needed was a good bluff to take Darcy for all he was worth.

* * *

Men never went for Charlotte Lucas. All of her life she'd played the plain, but amusing sidekick to some other girl's beauty. In times of despair caused by asshole boyfriends, she supplied the shoulder to lean on, and on nights out she watched the purses and made sure every drink was sufficiently GHB-free. This was all well and good with her – she'd never been much of a romantic – but on that fateful night between Lizzie and Darcy, Charlotte had dropped the "ugly friend" creed of 'we came together, we leave together' all because _she_ had met a man.

Okay, so he wasn't exactly the best looking thing ever. He was shorter than her (and at 5'4 she wasn't what you'd call an Amazon), had non-existent dance skills, a tendency for weird compliments (apparently, she possessed the most exquisite earlobes), and, bless him, he still thought a soul-patch was a good idea. None of that really mattered to Charlotte, however, because for once she was getting all of the attention.

Attempts at contact had been fruitless ('the wireless customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable') and out of sheer desperation, she had lowered herself to going back to that club nearly every Friday night. Make no mistake, she wasn't suddenly in-touch with her mediocre chick-flick loving side. It was just that her apartment was a Jane/Charlie woobie love nest and well, with the way Darcy had been staring at Lizzie for the past seven months (and the way Lizzie was currently staring at him from across the table) Charlotte couldn't help feeling as though she were missing out.

Silently Charlotte drank her milkshake, and kept a lid on her jealousy while Lizzie and Darcy teased each other.

"You said you'd give it a try."

"Well, then I'm a filthy liar."

"Oh, a liar in addition to being a snob, a meddler…what a fucking catch you are."

"You like me anyway."

Lizzie blushed and shoved her animal-style fries in Darcy's direction. "One bite."

He grimaced. "You're pushy."

"It's part of my charm."

It was a friggen smile-fest in the middle of In-and-Out Burger (Charlotte had no idea that Darcy's face muscles were even capable of turning up that way) and the general get-a-room-y-ness of the two made her stomach churn. "I'm going to get another shake," she announced, slinking out of her chair, though it was doubtful the pair had heard a word she said.

Lizzie's giggle floated into her ear from across the room and despite every effort, Charlotte's eyes did the sort of exaggerated roll that necessitated a sudden pause in her step. The poor guy booking his way to the soda fountain never saw it coming.

There was a rapid exchange of 'ow's" and 'oh, geez – I'm so sorry's' before recognition dawned on them both:

"Charlotte?!"

"Henry?!"

"Oh my goodness; the world really is as small as they say!" Henry beamed like a kid on Christmas and threw his arms around her in a bear hug.

She gave a nervous laugh, a little taken aback by the show of affection. "It's good to see you."

"Wow, this is just so great! I thought for sure I'd never see you again; I lost your number and I've just gotten back from Indonesia…"

"Indonesia?"

"I was doing some filming there and – well, hey come and sit with me and we'll catch up."

"Actually, I'm here with some friends of mine…"

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed grabbing her hand. "I'll join you!"

There are just some people one never expects to (or wants to) see again; you grow up – sometimes more physically than emotionally – you move away, you make attempts at starting a life that no longer revolves around biology homework and trendy tables in the cafeteria. And (if a just and loving god exists) you'll never have to think about the bane(s) of your adolescent existence until you grace them with a hotter, richer version of yourself in the banquet hall of some Holiday Inn and Suites ten years down the line.

This notion was hard and fast for Elizabeth, so imagine her surprise at looking up to find Henry 'Creeper' Collins standing in front of her table and latched onto her best friend.

Henry had been a constant companion from kindergarten to twelfth grade. With the exception of a chicken pox related reprieve, not a day went by without him declaring his undying love and devotion for her.

There were the notes ("will you be my girlfriend? Check 'yes' or 'no'), and the G.I. Joe Valentine's Day /box of conversation hearts combo that awaited her every year until they reached an age were such childishness was unacceptable, and G.I. Joe found himself replaced with awful prose ("Oh, Lizzie you've got me in such a tizzy. One kiss from your lips would make me feel dizzy"). And then there were the few occasions where Mr. Bennet was forced to chase him out of the bushes near his daughter's window.

Lizzie choked on her Sprite, receiving a concerned pat on the back from an unaware Darcy.

"Elizabeth Bennet?!" Henry was all smiles as he turned to Charlotte, "This is your friend?"

"What's up, Henry?" Lizzie attempted a pleasant smile and failed miserably.

This, however, went right over Henry's head; he excitedly pulled out a chair and took a seat (a confused Charlotte following his lead) talking a mile a minute. "Or, I suppose I should say 'Elizabeth Darcy' now."

His eyes fixed on Fitzwilliam he thrust a hand in the man's face and shook it far longer than what could be considered socially acceptable. "Mr. Darcy it is an immense pleasure to finally meet you, sir. My brother, Bill and I have the honor of working for your noble family; he's Anne's personal assistant and I have the distinct pleasure of being a cameraman on your Aunt Lady Catherine's, show. Oh, she'll be thrilled when I tell her I ran into you! She was just saying the other day how much she longed to see you and Elizabeth…we've just returned from a shoot in Indonesia and Lady Catherine's having 'Welcome Home' dinner, she's had such hard luck with trying to get in touch with you…"

Before Darcy could get a word in edgewise, Henry was pulling out his Blackberry. "…I'm just going to give her a call…"

Darcy paled, his eyes widening. "No, no you don't have to do that!"

"Hello, Lady Catherine! I hope you're having a pleasant – this is, Henry." He paused and a screech of '_Henry who_' from the other end of the line was clearly heard. "Henry Collins, m'am. You'll never guess who I'm with at this very moment – your nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy…yes, yes of course…" he shoved the phone into Darcy's hand absolutely missing the glare of death that marred the man's features.

"Hello, Auntie," Darcy attempted a pleasant tone and failed miserably.

"You two know each other?" Charlotte asked, surprised.

"Oh, Elizabeth and I go way back," Henry supplied. "It's great that we can sit here, two ex's with our current loves, and there be no awkwardness between us."

Lizzie's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"You dated?" Charlotte looked a bit crestfallen.

"For thirty minutes…in _kindergarten_," Lizzie said.

Henry chuckled. "Elizabeth exposed me to the fickle nature of women…"

Lizzie frowned. "Fickle my ass, you were caught eating paste; that's an automatic deal breaker even at five."

"You really haven't changed a bit, have you?" Henry let his eyes rake appraisingly over her form. "Except, I suppose the Freshman Fifteen must be hard to overcome."

Charlotte had the good sense to cringe and silently willed Lizzie to have mercy on Collins's soul.

Lizzie blinked her dark eyes revealed the contemplation of Murder One, but she bit her tongue. "I'm seven months pregnant."

"_Yes, well Lizzie and I have been really busy, Auntie…yes, I know that's not a sufficient excuse…no, I haven't been ignoring your calls_."

"Oh," Henry laughed, "congratulations! Boy or girl?"

"We're leaving that a surprise," Lizzie answered curtly.

"That's wonderful! I wish more couples had the patience to do that these days; my brothers and I were pleasant surprises for our parents."

Lizzie grinned wickedly. "I'm sure."

"_Yes, we'd love to come…wouldn't miss it for the world…_" With a heavy sigh, Darcy handed the phone back to Henry.

"I take it Charlotte and I will be seeing you two at the dinner?"

Darcy made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat and the little vein on his forehead began to dance. "Absolutely."

"Excellent; I can't wait to properly catch up with you, Lizzie and to get to know you better, Mr. Darcy." After committing Charlotte's number to his phonebook, Henry placed a kiss on her cheek and made a ridiculous show of bowing in Darcy's direction before taking off.

The silence at the table was chilling and Charlotte found herself laughing to keep from crying. "So, I uh…I met a guy."

* * *

_Author's Note: Fuck, this is a long one so strap yourselves in._

_Back in Ch.20, I did a Q and A session answering some common questions I've gotten, so if you find yourself the least bit confused on anything – please check that first as the answers you seek are probably there. In the event that they're not, definitely feel free to contact me. All I ask is that, if you prefer to leave your question in a review, please sign in so I can PM you with a response as quickly as possible or leave an email. Anon reviews full of questions but with no email forces me to leave you hanging until the next update and with the way my schedule runs nowadays who knows when that will be. My myspace, livejournal, and email are all on my profile – don't be scared to use those if you don't have a fanfic account and even if you do – I'm all for making new friends. _

_If I forgot to mention it, I'm deeply sorry, but the ending to Ch.1 was rewritten some time ago._

_Also, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT try and apply the actual timeline in Pride and Prejudice this story, doing so will only make your head explode. I've mixed things up, I've taken things out completely and I did this on purpose. I've read P&P enough, and spent enough afternoons with Colin, Matthew, and Laurence, and as much as I love this story, I don't need it word for word in my fanfiction (I assume you don't either). My favorite stories always contain elements of Austen's work, just re-imagined. That's all this story was ever meant to be. I did say to think of the wedding chapters as the Netherfield Ball, because that is the height of contention between the two (and Pemberly replaced Rosings in my story as the place for Lizzie's anger at Darcy to come to a head). They've got one more obstacle to overcome, but Lizzie will never hate him again. _

_The bathroom/5 things I hate about you scene in the last chapter is not supposed to represent anything in P&P. The list thing is just something kinda quirky that I thought would be cute to give them a connection on; Darcy's been making lists throughout and Lizzie hinted at her propensity for it in Ch.1. The actual P&P references in that chapter are just wink-and-nods to the original text and aren't a benchmark for the timeline. _

_Wickham is officially back as of…well, this chapter right here. Oh, and he will not be running away with Lydia or even meeting Lydia. And then there's Lady Catherine and Eva to contend with (oh, I didn't forget about her). We're close to being done, but there's still a bit to go :)_


	26. Future Foe Scenarios

_Author's Note: Haha, my Chapter titles have been very Fueled By Ramen as of late. How about some Silversun Pickups:_

_**Future Foe Scenarios **_

Unbeknownst to Lizzie and her stoic paramour, Mr. Collins's more ridiculous attributes did not go unnoticed by Charlotte; instead it was a simple case of her not caring very much.

Prince Charming and his shiny, white horse was something that happened to girls like Jane: those wispy, gentle-natured creatures that somehow remained ignorant of their staggering beauty and its power to drop a desirable man (Mr. I come complete with a car, a bank account, and a home mother-free) to his knees. Or, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, Conveniently Rich and Well-Endowed preferred the manic-pixie girls like, dear Lizzie; the sort of females that were all wit, quirkiness, and "fine eyes". Charlotte, however, belonged to the 'comfortable old shoe' lot of women – the type who seemed to have been broken in from birth. The 'old shoe' would make a perfectly respectable companion throughout life and a man would come to regard its faithfulness, its ability to have dinner on the table by six and have 2.5 fat, mealy-mouthed kids tucked into bed by ten, despite the shoe's plainness, its holes, and its grass stains.

Charlotte never dreamt of great, passionate love that inspired sonnets or insanity, or very possibly both. She was convinced she wasn't the type of woman that could ever produce such feelings in a man and never entertained any thoughts to the contrary (self-delusion, she thought, looked rather stupid on her). If Henry Collins offered her comfort and security, and 2.5 awful children, well then, he would simply have to do.

Though her mind was thoroughly made up on the subject, Charlotte listened quietly and intently to her friend's numerous grievances against the man:

"The Collins's are the reason there's no Bennet's left in Sun Valley. There are four others just like him, if you can believe that genetic joke. His older brother, Billy, thought the sun rose and shone out of Jane's ass, and he collected strands of her hair to make a doll. The dude made a Jane hair doll, Charlotte. _Seriously_. Dad upped and moved us all to Reseda after I graduated because getting stalked by a Collins was becoming a bizarre Bennet right of passage."

And, "Just be thankful you don't have any bushes, Charlotte."

When Lizzie colorfully ended her tirade with, "Henry Collins is like a two-scoop sundae of suck and fail topped with dumbass sprinkles," Charlotte looked up from the vanilla sludge that used to be her milkshake and said with a weary sigh,

"Are you done?"

"Not quite; you're way too good for him, Char – what the hell are you thinking?!"

She bristled. "Okay, I admit Henry's a bit much."

"A bit much?" Lizzie snickered. "The man is a fool."

"He's _my_ fool!" Charlotte snapped and after taking the moment the newfound awkward silence had afforded her, she said, "At least, I may want him to be. Someday. But, Christ on a cracker, Lizzie, you act as if I'm betrothed to the guy and we haven't even been on one goddamn date!"

Lizzie shook her head. "But, you don't know what he's really like."

"I want to know," Charlotte said, "and I want you to support me. Please, can we not argue about this? Can you just be my bestie and let me make my own decisions?"

"But…" Lizzie began and a small nudge from Darcy's elbow put an end to her protest. She sighed heavily before taking one last bite of her fries. "Fine, I'll be supportive. Really, I just want you to be happy, Char – _truly_, happy."

That was the thing about Lizzie, she wanted so badly for her friend to hold onto fairytale notions ("we'll be great actresses"/ "one day, I swear we'll both be swept off our feet. No more losers, Char – only the most worthy, most perfect guys will get to monopolize our time from here on out") that she would cling to those dreams for the both of them.

"I know, honey," Charlotte said softly.

* * *

She should have slammed the door in his face while belting "fuck you very much, buddy!" at the top of her lungs, but all Danny had to do was give her puppy-dog wide eyes and say:

"I've really missed you, babe."

Sarah was putty in his hands.

"You won't believe what my life's been like for the past couple months," Wickham put on his best defeated voice as he pushed his way inside her apartment, "I lost my job, my apartment, I'm still dodging the repo-man when it comes to my car, and I guess you know how unsympathetic Sprint can be when you stop giving them money. This city's had my balls in vice grip – I just had to get out of here, you know, clear my head."

Lips pulled into a tight, thin line, she nodded. "So, where did you go?" she asked in an unsteady, quiet voice.

"Oh, uh…" Wickham flopped down comfortably on the couch and made a show of putting his feet up on the coffee table, "Kansas. I stayed with my Nana for a while which was just great; she's a remarkable woman, still feisty as all get out at eighty-nine years old." Smiling, he gestured for her to have a seat next to him. "C'mon, then…I know I've been a total asshole, disappearing on you like that, but the thought of you seeing me at my lowest, Sassy, it tore me apart."

What little resolve she might have possessed broke at that moment and Sarah found herself enveloped in his arms. Breathing in his scent, encircled in his warmth, his fingertips on the bare skin of her arm, this feeling was one she'd thought she would never experience again.

"You could've told me," she said burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I could've helped you."

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "No, sweetheart, this is my mess. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Well, where are you staying?"

"Um, nowhere at the moment; I've only just got back into town and I had to see you before I made any sort of plans." He gazed at her with soft, longing eyes. "I was afraid I'd really fucked up."

Sarah giggled. "Oh you definitely fucked up; lucky for you, I'm the forgiving type."

"Lucky indeed," he said squeezing her tightly.

She sat up and looked him squarely in the eye. "You're staying here until you're back on you're feet – no objections."

"Sass, I don't want to impose…"

"What did I say about objections?" She playfully swatted at his shoulder. "I mean it and saying no to this offer is not an option."

"Look at you," Wickham laughed, "taking charge and everything. It's very sexy."

Sarah beamed and made a move to get up from the couch. "Let's go get your stuff…"

He grabbed her wrist. "There's time for that later, all I want to do right now is lay here with you in my arms."

Though her heart was sufficiently melted she couldn't help but notice the splint on his finger. "What happened?" she asked with a curious tilt of her head.

"What? Oh," Wickham shrugged with a lopsided smile when he caught her eye line, "screen door accident at grandma's."

* * *

In spite of the civil understanding reached at the end of their lunch, the car ride back to the Darcy's place in the Hills was a tense one. Charlotte had unsuccessfully tried to defuse the situation by putting in she and Lizzie's favorite mix with the hopes that a Britney, Beyonce, and Backstreet trifecta would get her friend to smile and dance her way out of being so utterly disappointed. Instead, it provided an inappropriately upbeat soundtrack.

Lizzie focused her eyes on the blur of cars passing by, Charlotte kept her gaze straight ahead and made a point to grip the steering wheel with both hands, and poor Darcy, caught in the middle of all this awkward, languished away in the backseat.

Sighing, Lizzie pulled the vibrating cell phone out of her purse:

**From: Darcy**

**Collins wrote you poetry? Should I follow his example? **

Her eyes snapped up from the text message to the visor mirror; Darcy's reflection was lazily slumped against the door and staring out of the opposite window. The corner of her lips jerking upward, she replied:

**To: Darcy**

**Only if you never wish to get laid again. **

She relished in watching a huge grin break out on his face and a moment later her cell buzzed with his response:

**From: Darcy**

**Poetry is supposed to be the way to win a woman's heart. WTF kind of female are you?**

She giggled:

**To: Darcy**

**A complicated one that doesn't like her name being rhymed with every word that ends with an –izy. **

**From: Darcy**

**In his defense, it's hard to rhyme Elizabeth. **

"Who ya talkin' to?" Charlotte jovially asked her.

"Jane," Lizzie answered quickly. "Charlie's trying to convince her to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street and she's close to giving in."

**From: Darcy**

**You sit on a throne of lies. **

Covering her mouth, Lizzie shook silently with laughter.

"Oh, god!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Talk her out of it! She'll be up for months – you know how sensitive she is."

"Yeah…she still can't handle the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz. I can't believe she's even considering it."

**To: Darcy**

**I don't want her to know we're talking about Collins. **

**From: Darcy**

**Who's talking about Collins? I'm trying to find the best way to woo you. **

**From: Darcy**

… **roses are red  
violets are purple  
I like you a lot, but, damn, nothing rhymes with that.**

**To: Darcy**

**Collins will be happy to know that he kicks your ass when it comes to prose. That was super lame, Fitzie. **

**From: Darcy**

**Unappreciative wench. **

She laughed loudly earning a look from her friend. "Jane actually thinks she's safe because Johnny Depp's on screen." Lizzie shrugged with a lopsided grin. "It's precious."

"She's gonna make me go through the whole apartment with a bat later on. I fucking know it." Charlotte shook her head.

**From: Darcy**

**The story of us…**

**Jack and Jill went up a hill,  
to have a little fun.  
Stupid Jack forgot his cap,  
and now they have a son****.**

**(or daughter) :)**

**To: Darcy**

**LOL. You've totally wooed me now. Take me, I'm your's!**

**From: Darcy**

**You can't type LOL when you're not actually LOLing! I can see and hear you, remember?**

**To: Darcy**

**Oh believe me, I'm laughing on the inside. Hard. **

**From: Darcy**

**So, you feel a bit better now?**

Lizzie caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.

**To: Darcy**

**A LOT better. Thanks, Jack. **


	27. I am Trying to Break Your Heart Pt 1

_Author's Note: And so we meet again; I feel like I haven't seen you guys in eleventy-billion years. Let's plow forward, shall we? _

_**I am Trying to Break Your Heart**_

**Part one **

The early days of sharing a general living space with the former Miss Bennet had produced in Darcy a laughably false impression that she was one of those neat as a pin, keeps quietly to herself type of roommates. When he looked back on it, it was easy to see that Lizzie's whole phantom housemate routine was due in large part to her adjusting to new surroundings, her loneliness, and her deep hatred for his face. Now that their relationship had practically barreled around a corner Darcy once didn't dare to dream was possible, her increasing comfort level uncovered some buried traits.

Neat she most certainly was not. His desk had fallen victim to Lizzie's organized chaos; its once pristine, cherry-wood surface was stacked high with cd's that hadn't quite made the transition into her iTunes and various issues of Nylon, Parenting Magazine, and college brochures ("I'm in the midst of an existential crises, Darcy. I've got to find my purpose."), respectively. The sleek monitor of his Mac was littered with post-its bearing hastily scribbled reminders of doctor appointments, and occasionally a plate of half-eaten food made an appearance.

Her underwear didn't always make it into her hamper, and it seemed as if she'd issued some sort of silent challenge to see just how many stacked dishes in the sink it would take to make their housekeeper's head explode – though, Lizzie always apologized profusely and took to draining the remnants of her own bank account to leave a sizeable tip.

She kept odd hours which Darcy would've chocked entirely up to pregnancy if Jane hadn't mentioned their father jokingly suspected Lizzie was a vampire ("Lizard manages to remain terribly pale in Southern California and barely sees the sunlight? Your mum birthed a Daywalker."). She was a notorious hogger of covers, and while Lizzie didn't snore, she made up for it by drooling in her sleep.

Darcy found himself ticking through all of these things and then some, as he lay next to her pretending to still be asleep. Lizzie sat quietly, her hair charmingly styled in the sort of way that only eight hours on a pillow could produce, her nose deep in the pages of a book, while merrily munching away on peanut butter crackers (the crumbs coming to rest on his Egyptian cotton sheets).

Darcy shifted and pulled the covers up to his face to mask his smile.

He wanted a lifetime of bed crumbs, of bras in the middle of the floor, of tiny puddles of drool on pillows. He wanted her temper even if it meant having something hurled at his head, just as much as he wanted her beauty and her wit. Everything that made Lizzie, Lizzie whether it was adorable, or irritating, or ridiculous – these traits of hers would be his constant companions until the end of his days, and he wouldn't take no for an answer…

Because he was ardently in love with her.

If he were asked to pinpoint the onset of all of these feelings he wouldn't have been able to. So much of his relationship with Lizzie consisted of being thrown in the middle before he even knew they'd begun and being in love with her was no different; Darcy didn't get a grand moment of clarity – his love for her was simply there and it was as organic to him as the need to breathe.

Suddenly reaching for a pen on the nightstand Lizzie said, "_Cadence Ariel_ is the perfect name for a little girl! Oh my god, I've gotta mark that page!"

Darcy bolted upright at the sound of this, eyes bulging and mouth agape, "What?! Have you lost your mind?"

"Wow, look who's awake," she snickered dryly.

With a loud groan and a withering look he dramatically flopped back down among the covers.

"Aww," Lizzie laughed, "I got tired of watching you play possum; it's no fun having you up if you're just gonna lay there pretending to be asleep thinking I haven't noticed you staring at me for the last fifteen minutes."

"I wasn't pretending," he grumbled, "I was trying to sleep as long as possible – I was hoping for a coma."

"Sadly, not even that would be enough to get you out of Auntie Catherine's _Easter_ _Extravaganza_." She quickly added, "And you are totally not leaving me to go into that vole pit alone."

"But, you and Auntie have been spending so much time together – I thought you were becoming pals." Darcy grinned.

Lizzie snorted at this. "One day I'm gonna have to visit the opposite world in which you live in. It must be an awfully nice place." Shaking her head she said, "Quality time with Lady Catherine consists of her informing me that every thought I've had concerning the future of this baby is wrong over a light lunch; from strollers to names, she hasn't hesitated to give me her _very_ decided opinion."

"Well, 'Cadence Ariel' does hint that you shouldn't be left completely to your own devices," he said thoughtfully.

"Oh shut up," she playfully smacked him in the face with her pillow. "I was joking; I would never give my daughter a name like 'Ariel' – everyone knows Belle is my favorite out of the Disney Princesses."

Smiling, Darcy pulled himself back up again, and kissed her cheek. "'Belle' won't be happening, either," he told her while cracking open the baby name book that had kept his wife occupied for the better part of the morning. "You seem to have a bit of a thing for girls names; do you know something I don't?"

"My family kinda has a track record in that department," she said matter-of-factly. "You're sleeping with _the_, would-be Sean Thomas Jr. – we should probably invest in some pink shit."

"Speaking as the one with the deciding factor DNA, I'm thinking we should _probably_ have a game plan for both sexes." He added scrunching his face, "And, _Abigail_? You really shouldn't be left to your own devices."

"What's wrong with Abigail?"

"Nothing, if you put 'Goody' in front of it and wear buckles on your shoes."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Okay and your oh-so superior choice is…?"

"I've always been partial to Caitlin." Darcy shrugged.

"Caitlin?" With furrowed brow locked into place, Lizzie casually popped a cracker into her mouth. "Oh, that's awesome," she told him dryly, "in school she'll go by Caitlin D. #25."

"We can rule out everything ending in –son and –en," he said as he carefully read over the names she had marked. "Madison, Addison, Braden, Jaden, Caden, Hayden…it's too trendy."

"Right; well you know not every name can have that old-timey staying power like Caitlin." She sardonically nodded in agreement. "As a matter of fact, I was just speaking to my great-grandmother Caitlin the other day…"

Darcy shot her a look. "I said I was _partial_ – it's not written in blood or anything."

"How about Michael?" Lizzie asked.

"I like it…"

Her eyes were hopeful. "…for a girl?"

He blinked. "Fuck and no."

"You're no fun at all," she started with a pout and suddenly her lips widened into a smile, "here's hoping little Caitlin gets my personality."

"Sometimes I wish I never bothered with learning how to talk," he grumbled and did his very best to look put-out with her, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

With the book and the crackers now banished to the outer limits of the nightstand, Darcy and Lizzie returned to the comfort of fluffy pillows and sheets with astronomical thread-counts.

"You know if you'd never learned to speak I'd just mock you in sign language, right?"

Laughing, Darcy went in for a kiss. "Yeah, I figured as much…"

The alarm clock on Lizzie's cell phone buzzed and chimed obnoxiously signaling the end of playful conversation (and a quick death to any other roads a kiss might have lead them down) and the start of a day with Lady Catherine.

Their faces were mirror reflections of utter disappointment.

* * *

The honeymoon period was supposed to last a good three years or so. Presumably within that amount of time a couple would get past all of the excitement about toothbrushes sharing the same space, discover that an orgasm wasn't really needed to make it through the day, and learn to list and stow away a catalog of their partner's previously "cute", but now annoying traits (for future passive aggressive use and possible divorce court documentation).

As Sarah watched Daniel Wickham, clad only in his boxers and loudly slurping the milk out of his cereal bowl, she briefly wondered if they'd take home the prize for the shortest honeymoon period in history.

Three weeks, he had only been in her apartment for three lousy fucking weeks, and she wanted to murder him.

Week one: she was waxing poetic about toothbrushes and extra sets of washcloths; the two of them seemed to be practically powered by sperm, dumping his dirty laundry in with hers was a joy and his enthusiasm over the contents of her refrigerator greatly pleased the dormant Suzie Homemaker gene in Sarah's DNA.

Week two: he never cleaned up after himself, she noticed, and he didn't seem too keen on finding another job (to pay her back that grand he owed her – among other things…).

Week three: she found him going through her Blackberry ("Oh, heh – I'm in the mood for Chinese and I figured I'd order from that place you love so much; I thought you'd have the number in your phone."). He disappeared for hours at a time, kept a suspicious watchful eye on the street below, and swore that the woman with the self satisfied smirk Sarah caught walking out of their(her) apartment was just an 'old friend'.

Wickham plopped the now empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him and had the audacity to light up a cigarette.

Sarah's eye twitched. "Right, it's all set up; he'll be by first thing tomorrow morning to discuss the mural with her." She adjusted the Bluetooth on her ear in a fit to stay focused on the conversation. "I promise you're going to love him, Mr. Darcy. Haha, alright – try not to have too good of a time today," she chuckled. "Tell Lizzie 'Happy Easter' for me…alright, bye-bye."

"And what are the _darling Darcy's_ getting up to on this fine holiday?" Wickham was smirking and blowing his stale secondhand into the air.

She fantasized about stubbing that cigarette out in his eyeball. "They're having brunch at his aunt's."

"At Rosings?" he asked and shrugged off of her look. "I caught the A&E biogeography on their family, I just assumed…"

"Yes, at Rosings," she sighed. "Listen, Danny I think we need to talk."

The look of dopey confusion that formed on Wickham's face wouldn't leave even after Sarah had stuffed the last of his belongings into the backseat of his car.

There was a cruel bounce in her step when she made her way over to him after shutting the door on the Ford Focus, and she clapped a hand down onto his shoulder with a smile. "Take care, Danny. Oh, and please don't call me."

He remained rooted to that spot for what seemed like an eternity; even after Sarah had gone back inside the apartment – even after she'd bolted the door and shut the blinds. He had never felt so…(hurt? nah. unloved? hardly, he never really liked her in the first place) _disposed of_. This plain, gangly fucking thing sending him packing without a moment's notice was ego crushing, but he'd get over it.

He had five hundred bucks in his pocket and an itch to play the ponies before paying his old friend, Fitzdickhead, a visit. Wickham slid into the front seat with a derisive snort, "I'll at least let him finish his scone before I ruin his day."

* * *

Pemberly Ranch had all of the rustic charm that the name would imply. Darcy's digs in the Hills were the epitome of cool, understand elegance (though Lizzie's presence brought in a homey 'hey, people actually live here' kind of quality).

And Lady Catherine's home (read: castle) that loomed like a bloated spider at the top of a picturesque knoll in the _Rosings Park_ gated community, so obviously steeped in Beverly Hills wealth that one would need a six figure income just to be able to peep at it through binoculars, held all of that gaudy self-importance the lower classes may expect out of someone with more money than God.

Lizzie, plainly stated, had come to hate the place. Since her first night there at "No, _please_ dear, call me _Auntie_" Catherine's welcome home dinner, she'd been shipped there nearly every other day to have lunch ("Your mother is a considerable distance away and you need the guidance of a more experienced woman."). It wasn't Darcy's fault; he very much would rather have chewed off his own hand than have her go, but like clockwork Auntie's car and personal driver would show up and Lizzie would bear it with Jane-like patience and grace.

If Auntie possessed things like a personable demeanor and the ability to smile, it all wouldn't have been so bad; Lizzie might've even welcomed the change of scenery. As it were, Catherine De Bourg was pulled tight (in face and personality). She was considerably gorgeous, even for a woman pushing sixty, ice blue eyes, platinum hair, and a figure that rivaled any twenty-something Hollywood tart.

She was like Sharon Stone or Caroline Bingley in thirty years.

She was as pompous and overblown as her house. If their conversations weren't about Auntie's numerous accomplishments, her travels ("Preparing kimchi alongside the masters was an experience I'll never forget"), and her goddamn TV show ("I'll be finished with the Food Network by the fall. It's become so very pedestrian – with those reality show winners and _god_, don't get me started on that Sandra Lee woman; a Kwanzaa Cake? Do black people even _really_ celebrate Kwanzaa? C'mon."), they were about finding a fault in Lizzie.

Oh, did Auntie _eve_r do her best to find a fault. Lizzie slouched far too much, gave her opinion too assuredly for a girl of no significant birth or education who'd never set foot out of California. The frown on her face upon learning Lizzie's red hair was in fact natural was so deep and stern (and came with a highly offensive aside about having gingers in the family) that Lizzie worried it would stay that way. And the younger woman's cheeky comment about practicing 'Lapsed Catholicism' after being extended an invitation to join her and Anne for Easter services produced a silence from Catherine that chilled to the bone.

Lizzie was convinced that _Auntie_ couldn't possibly like her (the feeling was quite mutual), and only bothered with the lunch dates because she was a bored, old bitch that got off on making someone feel like the dirt underneath her Blahnik heels.

The gates opened to let the car through and Lizzie swore very loudly. Darcy took this as a cue and immediately massaged her temples with his fingertips.

"It's only brunch; just keep telling yourself that," he said.

"I have this hypothesis," she started, her cheeks momentarily puffing out with frustration, "that Auntie sends a car for us so she can control when we leave."

He smiled. "I hate to break it to you, but your hypothesis was proven long ago, it's a theory now."

Their car came to a halt right next to another and Darcy and Lizzie were promptly escorted out to join the rest of the party.

Jane and Charlie were all smiles and politeness as they listened to Henry Collins extol on the fine and expensive qualities Lady Catherine's home had to offer. Charlotte feigned attention but wore the expression of someone being told the same story for the millionth-and-one time; and Richard desperately tried to console a visibly upset Daisy while an older woman whom Lizzie had never seen before, shared a J-14 magazine with his daughter, Jesse.

On seeing her sister and her husband, Jane's eyes lit up and she made her way to them immediately (missing the tail end of Henry's spiel about gold plated bathroom fixtures). "Lizzie!" she exclaimed throwing her arms around her. "You look so beautiful!"

"No, _you_ look beautiful," she laughed, "I look like a beached whale in a sundress."

Jane shook her head disapprovingly but smiled anyway. "Hello, Darcy," she greeted warmly and accepted a kiss on the cheek.

"Jane; I can't say I was expecting to see you and Charles here – it's a nice surprise," he said and throwing a cursory nod in Charlie's direction and getting a 'God do I wish I could get away right now' half smile from his friend.

"Charlotte convinced us to come," Jane said. "She tried to spin it by playing on the fact we hardly get to see each other these days, but I think she just didn't want to ride alone with Henry."

"Hola cousins!" Richard called out with a frantic wave in their direction.

"Is that little Fitzwilliam?" the older woman had now relinquished full control of the teenybopper mag to Jesse in order to hug Darcy. "Not so 'little' now, I suppose," she added with a grin.

Darcy looked genuinely surprised. "Aunt Rose?"

Rose was practically beaming. "Maggie couldn't make it …"

"Headache," Richard supplied complete with air quotes and a roll of his eyes.

"And Rich thought it would be fun to relive his high school days and bring his mom as his date."

Lizzie laughed. "Richard, did you just get _burned_ by your own mother?"

He shook his head with a frown. "She's getting mean in her old age."

Lizzie extended a hand in introduction, but it was quickly swatted away by Roseland in favor of a hug. "You must be Lizzie! It's nice to finally meet the woman my nephew talks so much about."

Darcy smiled. "Don't worry I left out all of the good stuff."

"Thanks, I almost doubted you for a second," Lizzie giggled. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Oh, head's up!"

Everyone turned in the direction of Richard's cry to see several golf carts flying down the walk, the one in the lead containing Lady Catherine and Anne (who swatted mercilessly at flies).

"Alright everyone," Rose said loudly, "chin's up, shoulder's back, wipe any signs of joy or mirth off of those faces!" With a sarcastic snort she removed a silver flask from the depths of her purse and took a drink. "Let's get on with this shit show, shall we?"


	28. I am Trying to Break Your Heart Pt 2

_**I am Trying to Break Your Heart**_

**Part two**

The golf carts came to a stop in a perfect line in front of the mostly bemused guests; "mostly" because Collins was brimming with adoration, Jesse was enthralled with finding out Nick Jonas's favorite color, and Daisy had quit sniffling long enough to discover a ladybug on her dress.

Lizzie watched the scene that passed between Rose and Catherine very carefully: though they were shielded by Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, the deeply set frown on Auntie's lips said that her eyes were just as hard and cold, but Rose took the chilly reception from her older sister in stride. She smiled brightly, raised her flask in Catherine's direction, and helped herself to another drink.

"What are you all waiting on? Get in!" Catherine barked at them before rudely tapping her driver on the shoulder. "Let's go, and _do_ stop swatting, Anne!"

"I'm being eaten alive!" Anne whined loudly as they once again started down the path. "Why can't we go inside? You know I hate being outdoors!"

"_Hush_!"

"Isn't Lady Catherine's daughter, Anne a real classic beauty?" Henry gushed. "She's so talented and poised, just like her mother. She will most certainly make some lucky man very happy one day."

"Yeah, she's a wet dream," Richard drolly replied.

When they were all situated in their respective carts with Jane, Charlie, Charlotte, and Henry occupying one, and Lizzie, Darcy, Richard, and Rose – the latter two who had to deal with fidgety little girls on their laps, shared the other, Darcy said, "Not that I'm not happy to see you Aunt Rose, but what are you doing here? This has got to be the last place on Earth you'd ever willingly agree to come to."

"It is," she answered truthfully, "but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to see you and finally meet Lizzie. Besides, it's always worth it to…" Rose quickly cupped her hands around Jesse's ears and Richard followed suit with Daisy, "_fuck_ Cathy's day up a little."

Lizzie smiled widely. "I think you may be my new favorite person."

Rose laughed and patted her on the knee. "I'm fond of you already." Fixing a look on her son and nephew, she said, "Well, I got a very pretty 'Thank You' card for the bread maker I sent, and a couple of pictures, but neither one of you good for nothings thought to tell me about how the wedding went." That look, though mocking, still had the power to make Darcy and Richard slink in their seats like a couple of school boys, and she turned to Lizzie, "So how was the big day, sweetheart?"

Lizzie hesitated. "Um, it was…"

Darcy faltered as well and nervously played with the collar of his shirt. "Absolutely…"

"Just shy of a total nightmare," Lizzie admitted.

That got a nod of agreement from Darcy. "There were some good moments, but they drowned in all of that awful."

"But, it was a beautiful looking nightmare."

"I seem to remember Lizzie having to be talked out of climbing out of a window," Richard snickered.

"You tried to climb out of a window?" Darcy sounded legitimately wounded.

Lizzie was mortified. "Well, you know…I was really stressed out and we were having some issues. My feet got ice cold for a second and how did _you_ hear about that?" She glared at Richard.

"Charlotte's got a big mouth." He grinned.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to share in the misery," Rose chuckled. "The snowstorm that grounded all of the planes at O'Hare, though a nightmare probably wasn't half as beautiful as your wedding; and don't look so damn pouty, Fitzwilliam! The girl didn't actually climb out of the window; she went ahead and committed to putting up with you."

"Well yeah, but…they had to talk you down?!" Darcy screeched.

"Not, exactly. It was more of a case of the chair being bolted to the floor and Jane refusing to steal one of the nun's habits," Lizzie sheepishly told him. "I didn't go through with it." She kissed his cheek. "And I'm really glad about that." Her bright eyes eagerly searched his face in hopes that a crisis had been successfully averted and when Darcy snorted she visibly relaxed.

"You're really kind of ridiculous," he told Lizzie with a shake of his head.

She shrugged. "You love it."

Darcy paused and looked oddly serious. "I do, actually."

Brows raised, Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but Rose decided to unwittingly interrupt the weighty moment between the couple by smacking her son on the back of the head.

"God, what was that for?!" Richard exclaimed, his free hand flying to the stinging spot.

"For trying to stir up trouble," she said disapprovingly. "Leave your cousins alone and save it for your Auntie."

In spite of having only two people in attendance that would truly appreciate it (being "too old" to enjoy those sorts of activities kept Henry from participating, and so he settled for drinking in the sights so he could properly expound on them to his future children), Catherine had gone all out in the Easter preparations. There was a giant, inflatable bouncy gym in the shape of a bunny off to the side of the picnic area, a clown working on making balloon animals, a petting zoo, and her attendants were positioned all over the grounds, standing at the point-ends of the roped off space designated for an egg hunt (the only sign of movement from those poor bastards came in the form of the pretty, pink ribbons on the baskets in their hands flapping in the breeze).

Her deep depression over having to put on a dress _and_ go to Auntie Catherine's temporarily forgotten, Daisy let out a delighted squeal; Jesse felt the pangs of excitement as well (though in a more 'I'm almost a grown girl of eight' sort of way), while the adults in the bunch looked very grim.

"What, is she expecting Jon and Kate Plus Eight?" Lizzie sarcastically asked as Darcy helped her out of the cart. "Please don't tell me she did all of this for two kids?"

The pair watched as the overly enthusiastic girls rushed their Auntie, who was quick to pry all four of the spindly limbs from around her waist and forced Jesse and Daisy to do 'air' kisses instead.

"No, she's spoiling them rotten," Darcy bluntly stated. "It's the only thing you can do when you have the emotional capacity of a cyborg."

"Auntie, can we go play?"

"Please, Auntie Catherine? I'm not hungry at all…"

Catherine shot for a laugh that said "aren't they just precious", but ended coming up just shy of Dr. Evil. "Of course you can go play, girls! Brunch won't be served just yet; we're waiting on one more guest, and because your father neglected to tell me your grandmother was coming I've had to ask to staff to prepare extra." Her lips jerked as she faced Rose. "You've spent all that time in Middle America, Roseland, and you never cared to watch your figure, anyway. My portions would look positively scant to someone so used to asking for every meal to be 'Super-Sized'."

"And here I thought we were actually gonna do the fake pleasantries for a while, but I see we've skipped straight to the bitchy portion of the evening." Rose rolled her eyes. "It's great to see you, too, sis."

Catherine glowered. "You know I hate surprises."

Rose was all smiles. "And you know I live for them."

"Auntie, you know my friend, Charles Bingley," Darcy began, attempting to defuse the situation, "but I don't believe you've met Lizzie's sister and Charles's girlfriend, Jane."

"It is a pleasure, Ms. De Bourg," Jane said sweetly. "The grounds you have here are simply stunning."

"Thank you, dear," Catherine replied. Her eyes raking over Jane's figure she added, "You and Elizabeth are sisters? I never would have guessed; are you a natural blonde?"

Though a bit taken aback, Jane answered politely. "Yes, ma'am; Lizzie took after our dad's side while I favor our mother's."

Catherine nodded approvingly. "Good. I'm happy to know that your gene pool is capable of producing hair color outside of red. Charles, lovely to see you as always."

"Lady Catherine," Charlie said in return and made a show of pushing his red hair out of his eyes.

"Brunch will be served shortly, but in the meantime there are drinks for everyone to enjoy." She smiled at Lizzie. "Virgin, of course."

Lizzie grumbled as she took her seat in between Darcy and Rose. "Two more months, just two more months and I'll never have to sit through another dinner with Auntie sober ever again."

Rose shook with silent laughter. "I'll drink double in your honor, Lizzie." She dumped a good chunk of the contents of her flask into the formerly virgin daiquiri.

"Thanks."

"What are you all talking about down there?" Catherine asked loudly. "I can't hear you."

"Lizzie was just asking me how long I'm in town for," Rose lied with ease.

"Ah, yes; how long can we expect to be graced with your presence?" Catherine's eyelashes fluttered and her lips pursed around the rim of her glass.

"For awhile; I'm in desperate need for a change of scenery."

"Mom's been looking for a place here," Richard jumped in. "She's already got a job lined up."

"That's great!" Darcy said. "Where at?"

"I'm taking over as Senior Director of a community center in Inglewood."

"Oh, awesome; social work is on my long list of possible, if daunting career choices," Lizzie let out a self deprecating laugh. "I've grown tired of practically emitting the stench of failed actress."

"Well, when you've whittled that long list down give me a call. I might be able to help."

"What are you talking about _now_? I still can't hear you!" Auntie craned her neck just over the top of Henry Collins's head to be able to stare disapprovingly at the opposite end of the table.

"We were just debating who's dreamier – George Clooney or Brad Pitt." Richard somehow managed to keep his voice completely devoid of sarcasm and casually sipped his drink. "I'm partial to Pitt myself; he's just _so_ manly."

"Don't be ridiculous, Richard," Catherine huffed. "Clooney is a consummate actor. Pitt has never been more than just a pretty face – shacking up with that woman and adopting half the world is just his attempt to make us forget about his limited skills."

Anne brought a rolled up newspaper down hard on an unsuspecting fly before gazing up at her mother. "I've been thinking about adopting an African child. They're all the rage."

Richard gasped with fake excitement. "Coach makes the cutest little carrying cases for babies! Kind of like what Paris Hilton had for her dog, but you know, roomier."

"Really?" Anne asked. "Do they come in gender specific colors, because I think it's awful how we confine boys and girls to 'pink' and 'blue'."

Lizzie made a noise somewhere in the back of her throat and Darcy – a ghost of a smile playing across his lips – took care to pat his wife on the back lest she give away the fact that they were all crying with laughter on the inside.

* * *

A phone call from Auntie's guest informing her they were in fact stuck in traffic on the 110 further delayed their brunch and Henry took it upon himself to offer up a tour of the grounds. It was met with a call for a quick game of touch football from Richard, which was readily accepted by everyone else, but left, poor staggeringly pregnant Lizzie on the outs. So with great reluctance and quite a few mumbled curses in Richard's direction, she boarded the golf cart with Henry.

In all her life, Lizzie had never seen someone so stuffed full of useless details about a piece of property that he didn't own and that didn't contain any sort of historical significance (although, one time during the 1970's George Hamilton slept over).

Auntie's home was 7800 square feet of Tuscan villa charm complete with a Florentine style bell tower, French doors, a two story library (that she absolutely _had_ to see!), and Henry topped it all off with a walk through Auntie's garden.

Leaning on a marble replica of 'The David', Henry adjusted his tie with a smarmy smile. "It's funny isn't it?"

Lizzie blinked. "What exactly?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, "I was just thinking about our Sun Valley days. I was so sure we would've been married by now and look at us." Henry straightened himself up and closed the distance between he and Lizzie. "The great loves of each other's lives and yet it didn't work out in the end."

He was uncomfortably close at this point and Lizzie could feel the dull ache of panic rising in her chest.

"Though there's all of this unspoken sexual tension between us." His attempt at 'smoldering' came off more 'constipated' and Henry leaned in, lips puckering. "I know you feel it, too, Lizzie…"

Her hand came up to stop him just in time and she resisted the urge to scream, settling on a winsome smile instead. "Henry…" she began slowly.

"Yesh?" his reply was smooshed as Lizzie's fingers still had a tight grip on his cheeks.

"I'm very fond of my husband – I intend on keeping him; and I know how much you like Charlotte…"

"Oh yes." Henry dumbly nodded.

"So, I think it's best if we keep our passions in check and go about our lives as if this never happened." Lizzie carefully let him go.

"I agree that's best, Elizabeth," he said sagely. "We'll be like two ships passing in the night."

She gave him a tight smile. "Sure."

"You won't say anything about this to Charlotte, will you?"

"My lips are sealed."

Upon returning to the rest of the party (after a ride so awkward that not even Henry dared to utter a peep about fruit trees and terraces) they were flagged down by Lady Catherine who immediately grabbed Lizzie by the hand.

"Elizabeth, dear, there's someone I'm just _dying_ for you to meet," she said quickly as she dragged Lizzie to the picnic area.

The woman who had been sitting back enjoying one of Auntie's virgin daiquiri's stood when the pair came near, and offered up a smile, but didn't bother to remove her sunglasses.

Lizzie let her eyes rake over the woman's form; she was very sleek, with a knockout body that contained one flaw – a tiny bump in her stomach.

"This is Fitzwilliam's wife, the one I've been telling you so much about," Catherine announced happily. "Lizzie, this is Eva Lane."

"Nice to meet you," Lizzie and Eva said simultaneously.

* * *

_Author's Note: uh oh. Lol _


	29. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

_Author's Note: I'm a rat bastard, but you trust this rat bastard, right? Hang in there for me._

_Let's do the damn thing:_

_

* * *

  
_

_**The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot**_

"Christ, this can't be happening to me!"

Darcy covered his face with his hands, head shaking in utter disbelief. Things had been going so well – better than he could have ever imagined, actually, and then seemingly within the blink of an eye it all came crashing down around him.

Charlie stepped into best friend mode slipping a firm, supportive arm around Darcy's dejected shoulders. "Nobody blames you, man."

"How could you not?" he looked at Charles in awe. "It's the stupidest thing I've could've done."

"To be honest, I would've done the same if I were in your shoes," Charlie admitted, and as the two of them watched Richard break into the 'robot' portion of his end-zone dance, he said, "dude, Anne was wide open, you _had_ to pass to her."

Eyes narrowing, Darcy turned away from the touchdown celebration to face his unathletic cousin. "I bet if that ball was the flu you would have caught it!"

"Oh my god," Anne gasped, "is that going around? Mother, mother! I'm taking my brunch inside!" she yelled, storming off for the main house in an absolute panic with one of Lady Catherine's handlers trailing behind her.

Richard put on quite a show for his sore-loser cousin, dancing with a laughing Charlotte and Jane before trotting toward Darcy making sure to put a Gene Kelly flair to his moves. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your life? Of course you haven't!" he teased and moon-walked his way to the picnic area. "My skills are unmatched! My defense is impregnable! I wanna eat your children! I'll fuck ya 'til you love me! I'll…" his mind blanked on bizarre Mike Tyson quotes when his eyes got a load of Lizzie chatting away amiably with – no, no it _couldn't _be…

"Oh, oh jesus shit."

Noticing him out of the corner of her eye, Eva turned to greet Richard with a smile. "Long time no see, stranger." She smiled. "How've you been?"

Shock wearing off, Richard's face set itself into a scowl, a facial expression Lizzie didn't think the jovial man was capable of making. "I've been just fine, Satan." Whipping around to glare at Auntie Catherine he barked, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The older woman's innocent shrug made his stomach turn. "You're being abominably rude, Richard. Sit down, brunch is served."

"I…wow, the nerve you must possess…does Darcy even know about this?"

"Whatever Richard says, don't believe him!" That was Darcy calling out as he and the rest of the group approached the table. "His shitty playing only benefited from not having Anne on his team!"

It was only when Darcy froze in his tracks that it all clicked for Lizzie. She watched his eyes harden on her companion (then on Auntie who appeared to be more smug than usual), watched the color drain from his face and his mouth set itself into a thin line. Recognition had been kicking around in the back of her brain since they'd shaken hands, and now the memory of her conversation with a nervous Georgie all those months ago surged to the forefront of her mind.

"_I admit I was shocked when I found out he was dating again. His last girlfriend, Eva…" she pulled a face._

"_Trouble, huh?"_

_A nod, "That's one way of putting it; the way I was thinking involved a four letter word beginning with 'C'."_

_Lizzie grinned. "Uh-huh."_

"_Eva's just…well, a complete misuse of human cells – that's really the only way to say it that doesn't totally make me feel like I'm going to hell. She did a number on Will – the kind of number the sensitive types rarely recover from…"_

This was Eva the Terrible. Eva the 'C U Next Tuesday'. Eva the, fiancé who'd had an affair with Daniel Wickham; and she had been sitting here giving the woman that was going into her fifth month of pregnancy tips, exchanging phone numbers, and setting up future lunch dates.

And Catherine had known this entire time.

Suddenly, Lizzie felt very ill.

"Fitzwilliam!" Eva's sunny tone only helped to thicken the tension. "Gosh, I haven't seen you in what? Four…maybe five months. You're looking wonderful; you too, Charles. And that adorable creature beside you must be, Jane. Lizzie's told me so much about you already that frankly I'm a bit irrationally angry at my parents for never giving me a sibling. I would have loved to have a sister like you."

Though thoroughly confused, Jane said a polite "Thank you", and eyed Charles suspiciously as he silently led her by the hand to their seats without bothering to return Eva's greeting.

"Grandma," Daisy began, tugging on the hem of Rose's pants, "why does cousin Darcy look like he's going to throw up?"

"He always looks like that, dear."

"…no he doesn't…"

"C'mon now sweethearts," Rose said quickly ushering the girls in the other direction, "let's grab your plates and set you up at the other table, hmm."

"But, I want to eat here," Jesse whined. "I'm the oldest and you guys are always making me leave just when things are getting interesting."

Rose spoke out of the side of her mouth. "You're too young to know what's interesting."

Darcy stiffly took his seat next to Lizzie, carefully unwrapped his silverware, and didn't bother to look up. "What are you doing here?"

Eva smiled. "I love a good Easter Egg hunt."

"Dig in everyone," Catherine cheerfully announced. "I think you'll find the salmon crepes to die for."

The clanking of forks and spoons on dishes filled in all of the awkward silence that had accumulated among the party, and Catherine feeling antsy (and rather missing the sound of her own voice) decided to inform everyone of every last detail of her shoot in Indonesia. She (with enthusiastic help from Henry) droned on endlessly about the food, the architecture, the _darling_ people, and their _darling_ customs. Her pompous deceit, her absolute disregard for his feelings and the utterly apparent lack of respect she held for his wife threw Darcy into a blind rage. His fingers absently curled around the butter knife he'd used on his toast and he barely registered getting out of his seat. When he jammed that knife square into Auntie's forehead, relief washed over his head and made its way out through his toes.

"Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam!"

He almost didn't hear his name being called over everyone's applause, and Darcy lifted his head up to see his Auntie situated at the head of the table, mimosa in hand, and head sadly butter knife free.

Catherine raised a brow. "Did you say something?"

Darcy shook the remnants of his satisfying fantasy away. "I said, just what the fuck are you, playing at?" he growled.

"_Excuse_ me," Auntie's free hand flew to her chest and she looked appropriately scandalized by his language. "I don't care for your tone, young man."

"You invite Eva here and then have the gall to be offended by my _tone_?"

"Oh I think I have an awful lot to be offended by, Fitzwilliam Marcus," she laughed hollowly. "Your insult to my intelligence for one; did you really think me so stupid as to believe a quickie, whirlwind relationship with this guttersnipe! I've spent nearly a year cleaning up your mistakes! Fighting to keep your name out of the tabloids when photographers have caught you out drinking and whoring around, and you bring this girl, this nobody, whom you've knocked up, into my house and attempt to pass her off as someone worthy of the 'Darcy' name?! How _dare_ you!"

Rose placed one hand on Lizzie's knee to keep her still and moved the knives away with the other. "Cathy…" she said warningly.

"Shut up, Rose!" Catherine shouted. "You were cut from this family a long time ago, this doesn't concern you." Eye darting back to Darcy she said, "Your mother and father must be spinning so hard in their graves right now they've got to be practically to China! Eva is here because I know your every move, boy, and I wanted you to know once and for all that I am done covering your ass. The press can have a field day with you!" She let out a nasty snicker. "Eva's pregnant as well. I suppose you'll want to marry her, too."

Mouths dropped open, Darcy went ashen, and Lizzie, _poor_ Lizzie rose from her seat with a deadly silence and walked away.

"Lizzie, Lizzie wait!" Darcy called out hurrying after her.

Both Jane and Charlotte made a move to get up, but Richard put a hand out to stop them. "Let them go," he solemnly ordered. "They need to talk."

"I knew you were a nasty piece of work, Cathy, but I never thought you were capable of something so cruel," Rose said through gritted teeth.

"Oh please!" Catherine gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "If Emma were here…"

"_If_ Emma were here, she'd very quietly gather up her things while I told you to go fuck yourself. Lizzie is everything Em and Marc would have hoped for in a daughter-in-law; she's sweet, and beautiful, and smart as a whip, and she loves that boy with all of her heart. They would _adore_ her and you know it, so don't tell me you've done this to stop the Darcy/Fitzwilliam name from being sullied. You did this because you're a bitter, old bitch who will die alone."

* * *

"Lizzie, please! Could you just stop for a second?" Darcy reached out and grabbed her arm only to have her violently wrench free of his grasp.

"Let go of me!"

"Lizzie, stop and talk to me for god's sake!" he pleaded, taking hold of her again and spun her around so that they were face to face.

She wasted no time slapping him hard across the cheek.

"Did you sleep with her?" Lizzie asked him furiously.

He hesitated, rubbing his cheek. "I…"

"Did you?!" she screamed.

"Yes," Darcy reluctantly admitted.

"Oh my _god_…" Lizzie wildly ran her fingers through her hair with a frustrated sigh.

"It happened after we came home from New Hampshire. I – I already had feelings for you and you were so angry with me, I just I wasn't thinking and I…"

"So is this what you do, then? Whenever things aren't going exactly the way you want them to, you go out and bang the first woman you can find?"

"_No_! It wasn't like that!"

"Then what was it like?" Lizzie wiped at her face while blinking back tears. "A condom isn't some fucking myth like Santa Claus, they do exist and they _do_ work!"

"That's just it!" he exclaimed throwing his hands up. "I wore a condom! Lizzie, I swear to you…"

"All this time, you knew – you _knew_ you'd broken our contract and you went ahead and married me anyway! I was no longer legally bound to you, but I guess the precious Darcy name was just too important."

"No," Darcy said head shaking, "this stopped being about that goddamn contract a long time ago! Lizzie, I married you because I lo-…"

"Don't," she choked back a sob, "don't tell me you love me; not now. I don't want to be angry the first time I hear you say that."

Darcy's eyes were pleading and he took a step forward – into a big puddle? He looked up from his soaked shoes into Lizzie's panic stricken face.

* * *

Richard arched his back in order to remove the ringing cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hello, you've reached the Ninth Circle of Hell. Satan is not in right now, but Cerberus is available to take your calls." He held the phone out to Eva. "It's for you."

"_Richard stop fucking around_!" Darcy's voice could be heard booming from the other end of the line and Richard quickly put the phone back to his ear. The call ended a second later and he was on his feet. "Have them bring the cars around front," he ordered Lady Catherine, "mom, get Jesse and Daisy will you?"

"Richard, what's wrong?" Charlotte asked worriedly.

He swallowed. "Lizzie's water just broke."

* * *

_Author's Note: Well, I said I was going to try and get this chapter out sooner and I toiled away on this for the better part of the night to make it happen. Sleep is for the weak. :)_

_I'm off to work, so do me a favor and leave me some awesome feedback to look forward to after a soul-sucking day of retail. _


	30. The After Dinner Payback Pt 1

_Author's Note: I'm pretty much stoked that I was able to shock you all. I got some __**extremely**__ entertaining reviews (thus ensuring I was checking my mail on my phone instead of working, so bless your hearts). I love your kind words and your freakouts equally. Thanks guys_.

_**The After Dinner Payback**_

**(part one)**

Today was unquestionably not his fucking day.

He was homeless and thanks to Task Master and Tallulah Does the Hula coming in fifth and ninth place respectively, he was also broke. Wickham groaned loudly as Darcy's phone yet again went straight to voicemail and decided to try his luck with Lady Catherine's call bell.

The bored voice of one of Catherine's workers boomed out of the speaker. "Yes?"

"Hi, I'm trying to get in touch with Mr. Darcy. Could you tell him to come to the front gate, please?"

"Mr. Darcy is not here, sir."

"What do you mean he's not here?" Wickham asked in disbelief. "He's supposed to be having brunch – which basically means Catherine will make sure they won't leave until sundown."

"I'm afraid brunch is over, sir," was the disinterested reply.

"Well, where is Anne?" he sighed. "Can I speak to her?"

"Ms. De Bourg is not feeling well; I can't disturb her at this time."

"Ms. De Bourg thinks she's an incubator for infectious diseases, it's all in her head this is nothing new! If you won't go get her, buzz me in so I can talk to her."

His request was met with an audible sigh. "And you are, sir?"

"Daniel Wickham," he said with an edge of irritation.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't buzz you in."

"Why the hell not?" Wickham could feel himself growing angrier by the second and the cold diffidence in the voice on the other end wasn't helping to curb his temper.

"I think you know why, sir. Have a good day and a happy Easter to you if you celebrate."

"Wait a minute!" he shouted futilely, and when he didn't get a response he took to angrily kicking the PA system's brick encasement. Swearing loudly Danny resigned himself to once again going through the chore of pulling out his phone, but this time (and thank all that is holy) the other line bothered to pick up.

"Hello?" Anne's voice was raspy and she even made a point to wheeze and breathe heavily as though she were the goddamn English Patient.

"Annie!" he greeted cheerily, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "How are you? You're sounding as wonderful as ever."

There was a cough and another groan. "What do you want, Danny? I'm trying to rest up and get rid of this flu."

"The flu, huh? I didn't even know that was going around," he remarked offhandedly. "Listen, I've got a few things to discuss with that cousin of your's, but Darcy is unreachable at the moment. Where's he gone?"

"Darcy?" she paused and Wickham got an earful of air as Anne hovered over the humidifier. "He's not here."

Wickham screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. "Yeah, we've established that; where did he go?" he asked her slowly.

"Oh, Lizzie's water broke. They've all gone to Cedars except for mother, she decided to stay and finish her salmon, but I think she's getting ready to leave now."

"Her water broke?"

"Yeah; poor thing hadn't even made it into her eighth month yet," Anne said. "I hope she and the baby will be okay. I like Lizzie – she makes Darcy happy and lord knows someone in this family should be." Suddenly, crumbling into a fit of laughter she added, "Coach doesn't make baby carrying cases! That Richard, I swear."

He frowned. "Um Anne, are you okay?"

"I took a few Valium to help with my flu; I think they may be kicking in now…"

"Oh, alright then; well you feel better, Annie," he told her without an ounce of genuine care in his voice.

"I can't believe I fell for that," Anne said absently, still laughing.

Wickham ended the call rolling his eyes. "Yeah, rest up darlin'."

* * *

The private waiting room in Cedars Sinai housed a motley, anxious crew.

The Bennet family made a grand entrance with Frannie using all of her lung power to declare "Oh Lizzie! Where's my baby?" at the very top of her voice (this was to be followed with even louder shouts of disapproval when she learned that her Lizzie in fact, did not want her in the room for the birth). The twins, Lydia in particular, moaned about the wait time ("I swear to Christ I'm not sitting here for sixteen hours…unless I can stay home from school tomorrow. Daddy, can you write me a note?") before deciding to roam the hospital halls in search of a McDreamy equivalent that would be willing to ignore California's age of consent laws. Mary slouched herself in a corner armed with her iPod, a copy of Wuthering Heights, and a scowl. Sean Bennet casually perused _Newsweek_ and wondered how in the hell he had ended up surrounded by such silly people.

Jane, after Lizzie's colorful tirade against having Darcy present (read: "You can jump up my ass, Darcy! I don't want to deal with you right now! I mean it! Get. The. Fuck. Out!"), disappeared into the room to keep her sister calm and to take over hand holding duties just in case Lizzie decided to (purposefully) break Fitzwilliam's. So that left Charlie to keep himself busy by updating Georgiana via text. The girl wanted the full experience of being there and that called for cell phone pics of the parking lot, the waiting room, and the gift shop.

Richard was full of nervous energy; Rose opting to take the girls home was a sweet gesture, but it left him without anyone to keep him sane. His mind went to what it was like when Daisy was born premature, all of the complications, the practically living in the hospital, and though everything turned out fine he couldn't help being terrified for his cousins. Daisy wasn't this early and Maggie certainly didn't have Lizzie's stress level when she went into labor. So he crossed and uncrossed his legs, he paced the floor, he leaned against the wall, and he spent every last dollar bill in his wallet on tiny cups of crappy hospital espresso.

And for once in his life Henry found a way to be a useful part of the group: he brought everyone lunch from Carl's Jr. and even sprung for a few celebratory cigars, a bouquet of flowers for Lizzie, and a single red rose for Charlotte (who was so surprised and touched by the gesture that right then and there she decided she adored him. Soul patch and boring as all fuck stories be damned.).

At hour ten, Frannie rambled about being underappreciated, Lydia scored the phone number of a sketchy looking orderly, Mary made it to the part where Heathcliff imprisons Cathy's daughter, Sean moved on to the latest issue of _Time_, Charlie reached level twenty five of 'Brick Breaker', Charlotte napped peacefully on Henry's shoulder, and Richard spotted Lady Catherine coming down the hall.

"Oh this _can't_ be real life," he muttered in disbelief and took off to meet Auntie half way. "What are you doing?" Richard sternly asked.

Auntie looked positively taken aback. "You better check your tone, Richard. I'm here for the birth of my grand niece or nephew; what else would I be doing?"

He gave a low, menacing laugh. "Is that right?"

"I'm not in the mood for games young man," she warned.

"I'm not surprised. You should be downright tuckered out after the action packed afternoon you've had." Grabbing Catherine by the elbow Richard called out over his shoulder, "Charles, a little help here?"

"What are you…now wait a minute, I won't stand for this!" Catherine said loudly when a smiling Charlie took her other arm.

"There are a few things I won't stand for either," Richard started as the two men dragged his thrashing Aunt down the corridor, "one: the way you speak to my mother – I'm sorry if my parentage isn't exactly on par with everyone else in this family, but it's been twenty six years. Construction on the bridge to getting the fuck over it should've begun long ago."

"Unhand me right now! Richard, Charles, I _mean_ it…!

"Two: the little forums for your ego you like to call 'dinner parties'. If I want to know the best place in the world to eat foie gras, I'll get that information from Bourdain. At least I'll be entertained with the added bonus of not hearing you drone on for three hours straight. So, and I think I can speak for Darcy here as well you, go ahead and save some cash by not having the kid at Kinko's print our invitations."

Catherine shrieked, "Bourdain is an overpaid thug!"

"And three…" Richard said wrenching open the door to Auntie's limo without bothering to wait for the driver to scramble out, "I will no longer stand for your unmitigated gall. For years I sat idly by and watched you shit on the people whose lives you desperately tried to control—my own life included. I'm not going to do that anymore. Darcy and Lizzie will never know you had the balls to show your face at this hospital, because I'll never tell them. I'm going to let them carry on in the hopes they'll forget you ever existed. I'm going to make sure that the only 'Great Aunt' my baby cousin knows is their Aunt Rose, and as for my own children, you'll be lucky to see them in Sears Christmas cards."

"I have _never_ in all my life been treated in such a way! Richard, I will not…I won't…let me go! I have every right to be here, whether you like it or not this is every bit my family as it is yours!"

"Family?" he snorted derisively. "Lady, you don't know the meaning of the word."

"Watch your head, Mrs. De Bourg," Charlie gleefully instructed while he and Richard stuffed her into the backseat. He swiftly pulled out his phone, directing the camera on Catherine's flustered, seething face. "Smile for Georgie," he told her and popped off a shot.

"Take care, Auntie and have a miserable life." Richard slammed the door on her ranting and waved as the limo sped off into the distance.

"I've never seen you like that, Richard," Charlie said gazing at him in astonishment.

He replied with a simple, "Yeah, well she pissed me off."

**xx**

When the twelfth hour was upon them, when Frannie had actually grown tired of complaining, when Lydia and Kit had taken a break from stalking around for men to watch a Friends re-run, when Mary had finished her novel and moved on to reading smutty fan fiction about the members of The Academy Is on her iPhone, when Sean found himself doing a puzzle in _Highlights_, when Richard had stopped pacing, when Charlie had run out of things to text, when Charlotte's nap had turned into a full-fledged bid for eight hours – when all of the steam had been practically sucked out of the room, Darcy emerged wearing scrubs and a weary expression.

With all of their eager eyes focused on him (Henry took care to wake his sleeping girlfriend), Fitzwilliam ran a hand through his wild hair and grinned like a maniac.

"It's a boy."

* * *

Baby Boy Darcy (all two pounds, eleven ounces of him) slept soundly while his mother, grandmother, and aunts peered in at him through the incubator.

"He's so tiny," Kit cooed.

Lydia softly chuckled, "And so pink."

"Well, he is half Bennet after all." Jane smiled.

"Welcome to a lifetime of freckles and bursting into flame when you step out into the sun, kid," Lizzie told her son while stroking the back of his little hand with her thumb.

"Maybe he'll get lucky and Fitzie's genes will trump all of that pale Irishness," Frannie said and then glancing around at her daughters added a good natured, "but probably not."

"What name did you guys decide on?" Mary asked.

"We haven't." Lizzie gave a tired shrug of her shoulders. "I mean, Darcy and I batted a few ideas around, but we figured we'd have two months left to get it right."

Kit's eyes lit up. "Can I name him?"

"Are you mentally challenged?" Lydia snickered, punching her in the shoulder. "Lizzie's not gonna let you name her kid."

Lizzie laughed, "Honestly, my mind's still spinning, so I'm totally open to suggestions right now."

"How about Gerard? It's a good solid name," Mary said.

"It's also the name of that lead singer who will never fuck you," Lydia sing-songed.

"_Lydia_…" Jane began warningly.

Mary glared darkly. "Eat shit."

Frannie sighed, "Girls, watch the language for Christ's sake."

"What?" Lydia looked the very picture of innocence. "He's gonna learn all of those words from Lizzie anyway," she teased. "You should go with Jaden or Gage," she told her sister matter-of-factly.

"Eh…those are a bit too trendy for us," Lizzie said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Duh, you make it stand out by spelling it differently!"

"Aiden's a really cute name," Jane tossed out.

"Yeah, but Aiden Darcy doesn't really roll off the tongue, you know?"

"I've always liked the name Owen," Kit chimed in. "You don't hear it that often, it's nice."

"Owen…" Lizzie repeated slowly, mulling it over, "I like that," she smiled and Kit giggled, obviously pleased with herself, and stuck her tongue out at Lydia.

* * *

_Author's Note: __So this proved to be a hard chapter to write. I struggled with how to approach it. I almost came close to having the baby chew its way out of Lizzie's womb Breaking Dawn style, but that was the frustration (read: alcohol) talking. I decided to split this up in order to give you all an update, so the next chapter may end up being shorter than normal. _


	31. The After Dinner Payback Pt 2

_**The After Dinner Payback**_

**(part two)**

Darcy was all too happy to excuse himself from the room on the grounds that Lizzie should have a moment alone with her family. This not only afforded him a breather from all of the awkward silence coming from his wife's direction, but provided an opportunity for him to come down from the emotional rollercoaster he'd been strapped to since that afternoon.

However, the sudden dip in those feelings took his brain from the joy of being a father and whipped it around an 'Eva's claiming to be pregnant with your child' bend, looping it back to the fact it would probably take an act of god to get Lizzie to speak to him again, and shot it straight down to 'Your first born is fighting for his life in the NICU' for the sort of drop people lined up in one hundred degree weather at Magic Mountain for. And like any rollercoaster worth its salt, all of that downward momentum caused the bottom to fall out of his stomach.

Crippled with a sudden wave of nausea Darcy vomited what little he ate that day into a nearby toilet bowl.

"Have I come at a bad time?" Mr. Bennet teasingly asked.

"Sean?" Darcy groaned, retching once again and spat the rest of the bile in his mouth into the toilet's disgustingly murky water.

"Mmm-hmm," he answered casually. "I figured you might need to talk about a few things. Don't worry I'll wait for you to flush. In fact I encourage it."

The hand Darcy used to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow crashed down on the lever, and he shouted above the noise of working pipes, "Do you mind very much if I stay in here for a minute? I'm not feeling so hot."

"Not at all; I'm sure the janitor would appreciate your consideration for his floors."

That got a chuckle out of Darcy as he slumped against the stall. "I'm guessing you want to offer some first time father advice? All I got out of Richard was 'kiss your sex life goodbye'."

"Not exactly, but I can do that as well," Sean said. "Let's see…a good suit to a baby is a walking target – have a rag on you at all times. Even if he's slept soundly, and you've changed him twenty times, and fed him at all appropriate intervals, he will still have a day where he cries for no foreseeable reason, and you'll need to invest in the patience to wait it out. Always trade diaper duties, and never let him sleep in your bed – it's more possible to maintain a sex life without a hand smacking you in the face or a foot kicking you in the ribs, and even if you're into that sort of thing, you want it to be your wife doing the hitting. Let him fall; kids are resilient and he'll bounce right back up. There'll be lots of bruises and scrapes, so the only time you should panic at the sight of blood is if it looks like a murder scene."

Smiling Darcy asked, "Anything else?"

"Last one, children are a lot smarter than they tend to be given credit for. They pick up on things quite easily, such as animosity between their parents."

"I've hard that," Darcy said glumly and drew his knees up to his chest.

"There was a period where Janie and Charlotte began screening Lizzie's calls, and she told me about your arrangement," Sean told him. "I must confess I found the whole thing too amusing to be angry over. It also helped that I liked you."

Darcy hesitated. "Liked?"

"Well, I'll put it this way, Fitzwilliam," Sean started as he sat down on the floor with his back to the stall's entrance, "it's quite easy to bond in a waiting room, especially after twelve hours. Charles and your cousin were eager to talk and there were only so many Where's Waldo puzzles I could do before I wanted to scream at that striped-sweater wearing bastard for frequenting such crowded places. The three of us had a nice, long talk about why Lizzie was so adamant about keeping you out of the room for the birth; they told me all about your Auntie's…salmon crepes."

Darcy couldn't even muster the strength to wince. "Oh," he numbly replied.

"'_Oh_' is right." The light, playful tone in Mr. Bennet's voice hadn't disappeared completely instead it took on an edge that was nothing short of menacing. "Now, I spent my teenage years and a good bit of my twenties fighting, and I've prided myself on becoming a rather peaceful bloke in my old age, but I came in here with every intention of breaking your face. However, I'm a 'benefit of the doubt' kind of guy and if you're willing to give me your side, I'm willing to listen."

"It's crap, really."

"That's okay; most excuses for dumb behavior tend to be."

Taking a deep breath, Darcy mentally prepared himself for the shot to the face that was sure to come when he reached the end of his tale. "You know how they say the first impression means everything?"

"Sure."

"Well with Lizzie and I it turned out to be the second. She shows up to my office absolutely soaking wet – I mean, fragile and shivering, and naturally I'm taken aback, but I'm also struck with this strange urge to take care of this girl, and you know what she does?" He paused to let a weary smile curl on his lips, "She bites my head off. That's the moment I became hers – totally and completely, and I do what any boy with crush would do; I say something utterly fucking stupid. Despite this, Lizzie agrees to enter into this deal and there we are – the girl who's bound to a man she can't stand the sight of for nearly two years and the man who's attracted to the woman that can't stand the sight of him. I won't lie, my pride took a beating those first few months with Lizzie; I desperately wanted to see her as nothing more than a business deal. I figure if I say it out loud enough my heart will catch up with my brain, and I'll no longer care what she thinks, or feels, or…"

Trailing off, Darcy tightly shut his eyes and clenched his teeth forcing down the ball of emotion that was holed up in his chest. "We get in an argument over my sister, and I insult her. Basically telling her, her opinion doesn't matter when she's absolutely right about my not being fair to Georgie. Lizzie doesn't to speak to me for a good two weeks, and I'm practically a wreck. I can't truly talk to Charles or Richard because I can't even admit I'm falling for her to myself, and that's when my ex calls. I sleep with Eva to make myself feel better; I'm thinking it'll give me perspective, like "_This_ is the type of woman that's worth being hung up on. Not some waitress. Not some one night stand", but of course that doesn't work and I'm regretting my behavior long before the act is even over. I knew my and Lizzie's contract was now null and void, but I couldn't let her go; I married her hoping that one day she could love me back. I was selfish and stupid, and don't worry, I'll hold perfectly still and let you break my face."

Sean remained quiet for a while before he said, "I'll never, for the life of me understand why you kids insist on sticking to this 'well it's love so make it hurt' philosophy. I never had the bloody patience to make everything ridiculously complicated." He chuckled, "If a boy even looks at my youngest the wrong way they're a mess for months on end, and Lizzie's always had a knack for fixer uppers."

Darcy laughed, wiping away the few tears that had escaped with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You're the only one with any real potential," Sean said warmly. "One of them was a drummer for fuck's sake." Pausing thoughtfully he added, "Yes, they're all quite keen on being crossed in love, except for Janie. That girl couldn't go thirty minutes without telling Charlie she ate the last bit of his Cap'n Crunch or else she'd get the shakes, so I don't think those two will do anything to muck up the waters."

"If Charles and Jane weren't so goddamn honest and genuine, I'd hate their guts." Darcy smiled. "I'll settle for being incredibly jealous over what they have together."

"You and Lizzie could easily have what they have."

Darcy snickered, "You're fucking kidding me, right?"

"I never kid," Sean deadpanned. "You want what Charlie and Jane have – it's simple, _communicate_. I get the impression that you're more of a fan of taking every emotion you have and locking it away than you are of hugging and kissing, and sharing and growing. If you'd acknowledged what you feel for Lizzie sooner, you wouldn't have slept with your ex. If you'd acknowledged how much you were hurting over your father's death, then there wouldn't have been any pictures of you stumbling out of a night club at three in the morning for me to see. I don't think you need a broken face, Fitzwilliam, just a good therapist; or, maybe a father-in-law that'll lend an ear when you want it."

"And what should I do about Lizzie?" Darcy solemnly asked.

"You should give her time. If she loves you as much as I think she does, she won't stay mad forever."

Rising to his feet Darcy brushed off his pants, breathed in deeply and let the air back out slowly. It would take a lot of time and even more effort to shake off the habit of bottling everything up, but if spilling his guts meant never having to walk around with the weight of a heavy heart or conscience he'd try his best to 'hug and kiss, share and grow'.

"And now here comes hard part," Darcy said as he and Sean left the restroom. "I'm sure she won't feel up to talking about this tonight."

"So you'll wait until she does," Sean said, "and you won't drive yourself crazy. But, just in case, we're deleting the numbers of any ex-girlfriends you might have and padlocking your liquor cabinet."

"Look who it is; it's the proud papa himself!"

The sight of a smirking Daniel Wickham kicked back in one of the waiting room chairs stopped Darcy cold in his tracks. Wickham was on his feet in an instant heading towards the two men with insincere well wishes rolling off of his tongue.

"I can't believe it – I just can't believe Fitzwilliam Darcy _actually_ reproduced," he laughed clamping a hand down on Darcy's shoulder. "What is the world coming to, huh?" Turning to Mr. Bennet he added, "You must be Lizzie's dad. How does it feel to be a grandpa?"

Sean eyed his son-in-law carefully before replying. "It feels very nice, thank you."

"I'm a friend of the family," Wickham said thrusting his hand into Sean's. "The name's Daniel, it's nice to meet you."

Sean nodded in return and said to Darcy, "I'll see you back in the room."

"Inquiring minds want to know, Darce – is it a bouncing baby boy or girl?" Wickham asked once they were alone.

"What are you doing here?" Darcy growled at him.

"I'm here to give my most heartfelt congratulations to you and Lizzie, of course. You know, I was going to send a card, but that felt so impersonal." Wickham snickered, "When do I get to see the fruit of your loins?"

"You'll see him sometime just shy of fucking never and not if my life depended on it." Darcy glared.

Wickham 'tsked' with a shake of his head. "God, Darcy you're always so dramatic. I figured with Lizzie in your life you'd forget all about my past transgressions and we could get back to being pals." He brought a hand to his heart and tried his best to look wounded. "You and your grudge holding."

Darcy's voice was stern. "Am I gonna have to call security or are you gonna leave quietly?"

"No, no," Wickham held up his hands feigning innocence, "I'm not here to cause a scene or to see your kid, really, though I'm sure he's all kinds of precious and cherubic. I came here to do you a favor."

"Is that right?" Darcy sniggered quirking his brow.

"Mmm-hmm. You see, Darcy despite my forever losing your good opinion, I still think of you as a brother. This is an exciting time for you and Lizzie, and I wouldn't want anything to ruin that."

"And what could you _possibly_ do for me?"

Leaning in close with a nasty smile on his face, he whispered into Darcy's ear, "I just think it would be terrible if the press found out your marriage is a sham. I know you could handle the gossiping, but Lizzie? She's their Cinderella; think of how quickly they'd turn on her if they found out she was bought and paid for with the Darcy billions."

Shouting, Darcy snatched Wickham by the collar of his shirt. "You son of a bitch!"

"Five hundred thousand keeps my mouth shut and your little family intact." Pausing Wickham added with a shrug, "Well at least until your contract runs out, I suppose."

"You can't prove anything; you could shout it to every journalist in the country until your lungs collapsed, but all it would amount to is nasty accusations."

"That would be correct…if your secretary wasn't so eager to please," he chuckled. "Sarah's a nice girl, but you should probably explain to her what confidentiality forms mean."

Reeling from shock Darcy let him go and Wickham took the opportunity to straighten out his shirt. "I've got your world at my fingertips, Darce and unless you want to see it all played out on The Smoking Gun, I'd suggest you cut me a check."

He was practically shaking with anger. "Fine," Darcy bit out. "When do you want it?"

"I'll call you with the details." Wickham beamed from ear to ear and said almost as an afterthought, "Oh and congratulations again. Hey, if she loses the baby weight, tell Lizzie to give me a call once you've cut her free."

At that, the grip Darcy had on his temper dissolved completely and his fist connected hard with Wickham's nose. He ignored the cries of pain from his former best friend, briefly focused on how fucking wonderful it felt (ache in his knuckles aside), and turning on his heel Darcy got the last word in:

"Next time Danny, send a card."

* * *

By the time he reached them the Bennets were shuffling out of the NICU. Congratulations were again offered up alongside supportive hugs from Jane and Mrs. Bennet (Lydia's brand of 'support' came in the form of pinching his butt cheeks) while Sean had a firm handshake and the words "Wait it out" to give him.

Lizzie glanced in his direction when Darcy entered the room, but said nothing and quickly turned her attention back on their son.

"How're you doing?" he said and instantly regretted it; the greeting sounded even stupider out loud than it had in his head.

"I'm wonderful," she told him dryly, "and you?"

"Lizzie…"

She cut him off, "There's a conversation brewing on the horizon here that I'm not up to having right this moment, so before we get into _that_ let's stick to happier territory."

"I can do happy," Darcy said relieved.

"Okay, well – names; any serious suggestions from your end, because I don't think Cadence Ariel will really grow with him and is that blood on your shirt?"

He followed her eye line directly to the crimson splotches staining his white polo. "Yeah, but it's not mine," was his nonchalant reply.

"Oh, okay," Lizzie said with a puzzled look.

Reaching into the pockets of his jeans, Darcy fished out a quarter. "We'll do this fair and square; heads you pick the first name, tails I do and we both get one veto if we don't like it."

"Alright." she nodded.

The coin flipped through the air and Darcy quickly caught it slapping it down onto the back of his hand. "Heads." he smiled.

"I can't reasonably take credit for this – it all goes to Kit and she'll gloat about it for the rest of her life, but I'm liking Owen." When she didn't get a response right away Lizzie said, "I know it's a dreaded 'en' name, but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway. You can always veto."

"No, no I like it," Darcy said softly. "Actually, it fits with what I had in mind."

"Giving 'Fitzwilliam' a second go around?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

"Not this time," he shook his head. "How do you feel about his middle name being Marcus?" Darcy shuffled nervously running his fingers through his hair. "It was my dad's name; I haven't done much to make him proud this year, but this…he would've been so excited to meet Owen."

"And if I vetoed?" Lizzie couldn't help chuckling.

"Oh like you're really gonna turn down the orphan's request to name his first born after his dead father," Darcy said with a plaintive smile.

"I would if your dad's name was something ridiculous like Ezekiel or Jim Bob, but Owen Marcus Darcy sounds perfect to me." Smile fading, Lizzie said, "I was talking to Jane and Charlotte earlier, and when I get the 'Ok' to leave, I'm going to move back into my old room for a while."

Darcy swallowed. "How long is a while?"

"I was thinking when he comes home that Owen can stay with me through the week and spend the weekends with you."

"Well, I guess that answers that question," he laughed hollowly.

She let out a heavy sigh, "If you need me to show up anywhere and put on a good face, I'll do it…"

"I don't want an act out of you, Lizzie!"

"Really? Then tell me what the hell we've been doing all this time!" she shouted. "Did you honestly think I would just let you whisk me back to the Hills and continue to play house with you?" Her voice broke with emotion as she furiously blinked back tears. "This whole thing started out as an act and there's no reason why it shouldn't end as one."

With a loud sniff and a final wipe at her eyes, Lizzie forced any and all traces of emotion off of her face, and Darcy knew he wouldn't get another word out of her on the subject – at least not tonight. Deep down he was certain the past few months they'd spent together weren't the product of a contract, or of loneliness, or of Lizzie trying to prove herself to be a first rate actress; all of those moments between them were the result of real, genuine feelings, and he wasn't about to let her anger over his fuck up persuade him otherwise.

So when he remained tight-lipped and only answered her with a curt nod, it wasn't a sign that he was going to lock his feelings away and cover them up with a string of bad decisions. No, Darcy intended on giving Lizzie all the time she needed, and when she came back to him, he would be a stronger, better man.

* * *

_Author's Note: My brain and I have been engaged in a war of attrition for about a month and a half, and I'm still not happy with this chapter. –sigh-_

_Sorry about the wait; thanks for being so patient with me. _


	32. Dance Little Liar

_Author's Note: It's been a while hasn't it? Well, I wanted to have all of the final chapters written and posted last month, but it didn't work out that way. Working retail during the holidays pretty much killed my free time, but now I'm back to my regular hours so I'm intending on finishing this up as quick as I can (I'm gonna try to keep up this posting two chapters at once thing til the end). I adore you guys; thanks for sticking it out with me. I hope you enjoy this two-for-one update. _

_**Previously on 'As the Darcys Turn'**__: Easter at Lady Catherine's was like celebrating Christ's resurrection in the seventh circle of hell. Eva showed up possibly pregnant by Darcy, little Owen Marcus made his debut two months early, Wickham wants half a million out of his former bestie or else he's going to squeal to the press, Lizzie's moving out, and Darcy's resolved to deal with all of this shit by not drinking and giving her time (as per the advice of the best father-in-law ever). _

_Memories sufficiently jogged? Cool, let us do the damn thing. _

_

* * *

  
_

_**Dance, Little Liar**_

**(an interlude)**

They'd met under the most clichéd set of shady-deals circumstances; Danny had gone out of his way to pick an alley in Santa Monica that fit all of the criteria of some Bogart noir – sparse lighting, feral cats, and overflowing dumpsters – and though it was an unseasonably chilly April day, his peacoat with its upturned collar in addition to being a tad too heavy for the California weather, gave off definite 'try-hard' fumes.

He casually leaned against the grimy brick wall and in the low-wattage of the street lamp Wickham could make out the sour expression on the approaching Darcy's face.

A brown, leather briefcase was hoisted into his waiting arms and Danny regarded his unhappy companion with a quizzical brow. "What, no hello? How're ya? Just getting straight to business? Manners, Fitzwilliam, _manners_," he chided sarcastically.

"It's all there, but you can count it if you want," Darcy gruffly responded.

"I intend to," Danny told him with a perfunctory nod. "You know, I don't like leaving things this way, Fitzie – all of this animosity between us…"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have slept with my fiancé and then extorted half a million out of me."

Wickham grinned. "Well, I can't argue with that. But, give it a few years and we'll be laughing over this, I'm sure." He placed a friendly hand on Fitzwilliam's shoulder and told him with all the sincerity of a snake, "Take care, and give Lizzie a kiss for me."

Darcy remained standing in the sort of muck John Varvatos oxfords were never meant to see as Danny gleefully made his way out of the alley. It wasn't until the flashing lights and the burps of police cruiser sirens filled the entrance that he allowed the dour mask he'd been wearing slip from his countenance.

Fitzwilliam smiled and knew that the donation he would make to the LAPD was going to be worth every penny.

**

**SHOULD'VE JUST PUT IN AN APPLICATION AT BURGER KING**

_Friend of the Darcy family caught in a shocking extortion attempt. _

_In today's "ungrateful bastard" news, word is former E! employee and current asshole, Daniel Wickham tried to payback the family that had the nerve to take him in and shove hot meals and an excellent education down his throat, by extorting $500,000. _

_Stealing from the Darcys is like taking a twenty from your memaw's purse – it's not gonna do anything but make that Big Mac Value Meal you just bought taste like shame and regret. _

_Anyway, Mr. Wickham is looking at five-to-ten, and with those green eyes and that creamy complexion, I'd say he's gonna need a care package of jumbo-sized anal lube. _

_While they've had to deal with this shit, the couple's newborn son remains in the hospital. I'm starting the Owen Darcy prayer circle right here. Get better, little one. _

**Posted by: Michael K**

**

* * *

**

_Author's Note: Michael K is the hilarious celeb blogger for the site DListed. I was going to do a formal news article about Wickham's arrest and then I thought it would be more fun to bite his style. I hope I did that sassy asshole justice. _


	33. Edit the Sad Parts Pt1

_**Edit the Sad Parts**_

**(month eight)**

The last four months of Lizzie's life had been a perfectly choreographed dance; one that she performed with a costume made up of weary smiles and greasy hair. The hospital room during her recovery time had become a veritable revolving door, and she played host to a laundry list of faceless family members and casual acquaintances that wanted to get a peek at the next generation Darcy (while smoothly mentioning their economic hardships and how cool it would be if she could throw a couple bucks their way). Jane used her vacation time in order to be there everyday, and was very good about sitting through paternity test episodes of Maury, and lending an ear whenever some distant cousin dropped by to be inappropriate. After school Mary and the twins brought books (that surprisingly reached outside the realm of _Vogue _and _Gossip Girl_), and snuck in the occasional outside food source, while Mrs. Bennet had mentally regressed her twenty-one year old child to about a very sickly five – tossing heavy blankets on Lizzie and barking at nurses to fluff her pillow, Mr. Bennet was keen to sit back and occasionally offer witticisms over the top of an issue of _The LA Times_.

Before dragging his girlfriend home, Charlie was always up for a chat. She could count on a Mario Kart battle with Richard, on Charlotte and Henry squeezing themselves in from time to time, and on a phone call from Georgie promptly at eight o'clock.

It was a well calculated effort, and one that Lizzie appreciated more than they'd ever know, because it kept her from ever truly being alone with Darcy.

Since Owen's birth, the depth of her conversations with Fitzwilliam went about as far as "How are you feeling?/Can I get you anything?/I'll be right back". Despite their being surrounded by loved ones ninety-nine percent of the time, Darcy slipped into the silent routine she once believed he only reserved for strangers; the warm, funny man Lizzie discovered all those months ago was gone, and in his place was an obedient errand boy that only spoke when spoken to.

The moments they spent with Owen proved to be the worst; under the blood shot eyes, the barely kempt hair, and the ever increasing stubble (on chin and leg), she and Darcy were two people agonizing over whether the life they'd helped create would get to experience all the world had to offer, and they couldn't even talk to each other about it.

Lizzie would have given anything to not be angry anymore, to chuck her wounded pride, fling herself into his arms, and have a long ugly cry session that dissolved into declarations of love in between all of the sobbing. But, she just couldn't, and Darcy's autopilot was incapable of forcing her to have a change of heart.

Eventually she returned to the apartment just off of Santa Monica that once upon a time she'd longed to see, (finding the room to be much smaller than she'd remembered and pushed all laments over the lack of plush, white couches to the back of her mind), and eventually Owen was able to leave the Ceaders NICU effectively ending the most emotionally draining two months in his parents lives.

The tentative agreement they'd reached that first night in the hospital remained: Monday through Thursday Owen was hers, and the weekends were spent with Darcy. Taking great pains to not be papped during all of this back and forth, they agreed to an exclusive photoshoot with _People_, and taking even greater pains to not see each other – Jane, and a visiting Mrs. Bennet always presided over the custody switch.

And though sometimes she felt as if she'd collapse under the weight of all that inner turmoil, Lizzie simply did the best she could. She discovered diaper changing was an art form (and that boys could have a sort of 'Old Faithful' effect), got back into her size two jeans (much to Charlotte's very vocal disgust), looked forward to a point in time where her nipples wouldn't ache so damn much, and coped with busy days fueled by 1.5 hours of sleep…

"Aw, I know you must feel awful…you go ahead and cry it all out…"

Because, Owen it seemed had gotten nearly all of his father's physical attributes – his eyes were brilliantly blue, his hair dark, and his face rather fond of a constipated expression – his 'Lizzie-ness' so far could only be traced down to an apparent hatred of sleeping at night.

Even a mobile of grinning anamorphic ducks piloting airplanes couldn't cheer poor, little Owen Darcy up (who could blame him, really? Ducks with beaks full of human teeth were fucking creepy), and his mother risked permanent ear damage, bending down into his crib. Nostrils flared, she took one big sniff and recoiled in horror.

"Good job getting me to mistake the 'massive dump' cry for the 'lack of sleep' cry," she commented dryly, lifting Owen out of bed. "It singed mommy's nose hairs; you should be proud."

When he was all changed, and when the toxic waste diaper was sufficiently disposed of, Owen squirmed, and cooed, and made just the tiniest hint at a wail to come as Lizzie attempted to place him back in the crib. Her head cocked to the side, she caught a glimpse of the flashing digits on the clock:

_7:00 a.m._ on the dot; another Darcy trait reared its ugly head – Owen, was annoyingly punctual.

Lizzie wasn't sure of the official start date of their early morning ritual, but during one particular night of nonstop tears, she'd scooped up her son and headed out of the door. What she'd perhaps intended to be a soothing walk around the neighborhood, turned into a soothing walk through _Costco_ since Owen hadn't calmed down before she reached the main road. She dipped into the store, wandering among isles of bulk Charmin and Purina, occasionally stopping to chat up a stocker or to sample some new multi-grain cereal, and before she knew it, she had a blissfully unconscious infant in her presence.

Owen, it seemed, had come to expect this type of treatment everyday (Darcy trait #406: a ridiculous sense of entitlement).

She dressed them both quickly, used her fingers to work away the few tangles in her hair, and secured him to her chest in the baby sling. When Lizzie and Owen emerged from the bedroom, they were greeted by a smiling Charlotte who pressed a steaming cup of Starbucks's finest into her best friend's hands.

"What the hell are you doing up before the crack of noon?" Lizzie teased, pausing a moment to savor the taste of macchiato, and briefly kissed the cup. "God, I've missed you."

"I'm just getting in from Henry's, and uh would you two like a moment alone?" Charlotte laughed.

"Nah, you're good," she shook her head. "All of the x-rated action is taking place in my belly."

"So…I've been doing some thinking," Charlotte began carefully, even taking to working the toe of her shoe back and forth in the carpet, "and in my opinion…"

Despite the caffeine high Lizzie's expression darkened instantly. "The answer's no."

"You don't know the opinion yet!"

"Such is the power of an educated guess," was the dry response.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Talk to him, Lizzie! Setting aside the fact it's painfully obvious Darcy means the world to you and you miss him like crazy, I think you could use his tip for getting Owen to sleep. He doesn't exactly have a Costco nearby."

"I don't need a tip from him, Char," she sighed heavily. "This works…"

"_This_ is ridiculous and draining, and there's got to be a better way!" Placing both hands on Lizzie's shoulders, Charlotte looked her square in the eyes and said with an exasperated smile, "It's been four months since you've physically seen or heard the man. Whether you choose to forgive him is totally up to you, and you know I'll support your decision, but…and this is just in my opinion…"

A snicker, "Mmmhmm."

"You're gonna regret it if you don't take a chance on fixing this," Charlotte finished, and kissed Lizzie's forehead. "I love you; don't be stupid."

"This is not being stupid – this is self preservation," Lizzie told her flatly and she maneuvered out from under Charlotte's grasp. "Thanks for the coffee," she called out over her shoulder as she headed for the door and towards the thrifty shoppers paradise that would calm her fussy baby.

* * *

The Fitzwilliam Darcy Misery Tour began the day Owen came home from the hospital. In a bout of mania brought on by the sight of a clean computer desk and packing boxes in Lizzie's bedroom, a sheet of paper was ripped from its spiral notebook binds and a new list was scribbled in a shaky, illegible hand:

**Top Three Wrongs that must be Righted **

It was dramatic and silly, and made him feel like an even bigger tool than he already did, but his determination to get a fucking grip saw no other way. The names were written in order in from damaged to catastrophic and when he finished he sighed, dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit send on the first name in the 'recent calls' list.

"_What's shakin, Big Daddy_?"

Georgie was disappointingly chipper, and in addition to possible irrevocable destruction of their relationship he was about to ruin her good mood. Somehow this bothered him more than anything.

"I…we need to talk."

What was arguably the first honest conversation Darcy had had with his baby sister in months was just as brutal as he'd expected (after all, nobody takes kindly to being lied to), and had ended with him being sworn at in several different languages – some of which he hadn't known Georgiana could speak.

She planned to visit LA in July and while the trip was still on, Georgie made it quite clear that seeing Darcy's face was no longer on the itinerary ("I'll stay with Richard and I swear to _god_, Will if you come around…").

When the day finally arrived, Darcy placed a quick call to his cousin who offered up support ("...It's been very nice knowing you, Darce. Make sure to will me the house in Cape Cod"), raided the school supplies section of a nearby Walgreens, and headed for LAX. Despite her insistence, he was determined not to tread lightly around Georgiana; he owed her a better explanation than he'd been able to give over the phone, and their bond was far too important to let crumble under his stupidity.

So, he awkwardly stood in front of the baggage claim gripping a brightly colored poster board. It wasn't bubble-lettered, or pink, and there was a distinct lack of glitter, but he'd hoped she'd appreciate the sentiment anyway.

**GEORGIE PORGIE**

In bold, sharpied black stood out against the neon green poster, and when she emerged from the crowd wearing sweats and the thin irritation of someone that's been holed up on a plane for more than an hour, the siblings locked eyes and Georgie's lips quirked up in a smile that was all too brief.

Perhaps she'd temporarily forgotten she hated his guts.

The walk towards him was slow and deliberate and the scowl on her face was heartbreaking. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged with a rueful smile. "Richard couldn't make it."

"I see you're not tired of lying," she said rolling her eyes.

Darcy winced. "Georgie, please…"

"You know what, Will? There's not a bag in the world that could contain the amount of douche you are," she snapped. "You are a…you are a douche canoe. I'm not sure what hurts the most: the lying to me about your relationship with Lizzie or the fact that you _felt_ you had to lie to me about your relationship with Lizzie. I'm not two years old anymore I can keep a secret if I need to."

"I know and I'm so unbelievably sorry, Georgie…"

"I love Lizzie like sister, Will and I was just supposed to give her up in a year and a half?" Her bottom lip gave just a hint of a tremble marking the presence of a sadness the girl was doing her best to keep hidden and Darcy choked on his words.

"No, no one's giving Lizzie up," his voice strained for a tone louder than a whisper. "Can we go somewhere and talk? Are you hungry? You could yell at me over moo shu pork," he offered, hopeful.

There was an awkward pause, but in the end she fought back a smile. "Yeah, I guess but only if you're buying."

For the first time in four months Darcy felt himself relax.

**

"So, what all this time you guys were faking? Does Lizzie even really like us; I mean, you said she was an actress maybe she's better at it than you thought."

Chinese takeout cartons were strewn about the coffee table; soft noodles dangled precariously on the edge of their container, and there was a nice mix of grease and soy sauce pooling on the surface of Darcy's $1400 investment, but Georgie no longer looked like she wanted to kill him and that was all that mattered.

He leaned forward in order to snatch up one of her dumplings with his chopsticks. "We were faking being in love at first, and Lizzie never put on an act when it came to you. She adores you, Georgie. I should know, she was far from being my biggest fan in the beginning and didn't hesitate to show it."

Halfway from shoveling fried rice into her mouth Georgie stopped and grinned instead. "At _first_ you say?"

Darcy gave a good natured roll of his eyes. "Yep."

"Would you care to elaborate on that, brother dear?"

"Not really," he dragged the words out teasingly.

And for that he took a dumpling square in the forehead.

"How very adult of you," Darcy sardonically told her while wiping off.

She shrugged. "I could say something about you already keeping enough details about this relationship hidden from me. I could, but I'm not going to." Casually sipping at her drink Georgie added, "Because that would be petty."

Smiling wistfully he shook his head. "I love her, Georgie and it's simultaneously the best and the most fucking awful feeling in the world. I'm still dealing with wanting to burst into song one minute and wanting to shoot myself in the head in the next, and when I think about how badly I fucked this all up the bullet nearly wins out."

"So, that explains the 'sad beard' then," she quipped with a nod towards her brother's facial hair. "Have you talked to her?"

He gave her a sideways look. "You see the beard; what do you think?"

"Oh c'mon, Will!" she groaned loudly.

"I'm giving her space – it's the only thing I know to do right now," he sighed. "Besides, I've got one more thing on my list to worry about before I can even think about fixing things with Lizzie."

Georgie swung her focus on the piece of notebook paper that sat amidst the cartons and the plates, and she glowered making sure to plop a soggy lo mein noodle right on top of Eva's name.


	34. Edit the Sad Parts Pt2

_**Edit the Sad Parts**_

**(part two)**

_Your call has been forwarded to an automated message system for…_

A sigh was uttered.

A scream was stifled, a Blackberry was pocketed, and Georgiana watched with the kind of rapt, morbid attention usually reserved for slowly passing by the site of a gory accident, the gradual slumping of his shoulders as he moved dejected and lumbering towards the living room couch.

Today marked the seventy-fifth time Will had attempted to get in touch with Eva only to reach the standard automaton voice of her wireless provider, and Georgie feared he was now well past the limit sanity deemed acceptable.

Propelled by the success of their own reconciliation, Fitzwilliam continued 'operation: feel less like a twat' with slight overconfidence. Getting Eva's voicemail the first time didn't faze him; he left a pleasant, if unbelievably awkward message that inquired after her health and the health of the baby (their baby?) and ended it with a request for her to get back to him with due date information and the like. Calls two through ten repeated the same sentiment, but included apologies for being a massive asshole.

Number eleven occurred after a long night in which Owen apparently felt like testing his lung capacity, and that message was an incoherent mix of babbling and weeping he prayed would never see the light of the internet.

By the twentieth call, the confidence was nonexistent, the message was a simple "Call me", but the hope was still there; Fitzwilliam was determined to do the right thing even if in the end his push for self improvement didn't aid in getting Lizzie back, and that optimism kept him going because when all of this was over, at least it would have been worth it.

The fifty-fifth defeat, however, loudly declared him to be a fucking sucker, his optimism to be for shit, and when the contact attempts reached a futile sixty and a pathetic seventy the idea that he'd been played for a fool took hold and refused to let go. Darcy's mind settled on the reason for Eva's not answering being due to all of the time laughing at him and taking bikini shots for Wickham's prison love letters must've taken up; and if he was quiet long enough he swore he could hear Auntie Catherine cackling from atop her bell tower in Beverly Hills.

He didn't want to think Eva could be so cruel as to lie to him about possibly carrying his child, but he'd so famously misjudged her character in the past. Add to that the fact the only reason Auntie even bothered to open her eyes is to crush happiness, and it no longer seemed like such a stretch of the imagination to believe their intention was to break him.

After call seventy-one ended, he was treated to the happy news that model Eva Lane had given birth to a girl over the weekend – and it came straight from E! by way of that bobble head Giuliana Rancic's mouth.

Her name was Abigail and she and her mother were doing just fine.

A sigh was uttered.

A scream was stifled, a Blackberry was pocketed, and Darcy practically numb over the idea he'd potentially missed the birth of his child (and seething over the name 'Abigail'), shuffled his feet towards the living room couch where he would remain for the next four days.

Georgie did everything she could; she reminded him to shower (and occasionally to put on pants), she made sure his meals consisted of more than potstickers and cheerios, and she forced him to trim up the 'sad beard' before it reached prospector level, but, convincing him to leave the couch altogether was absolutely impossible. If she dared to speak a sentence that remotely sounded like "it'll be alright" she was met with derisive snorts and rolling eyes, and so she was stuck as a witness to her brother drowning in his own self pity.

But today, as she eyed the sorry lump swathed in blankets and making dents in the cushions, Georgie felt something inside of her snap. One of the long discarded couch pillows made its way into her hands and she stood over Darcy.

"No luck?" she asked sarcastically while drumming her fingers on the pillow.

The lousy groan Georgie got from him in response tipped her over the edge and that pillow came crashing down on Darcy's head, repeatedly.

Half disoriented and all pissed off, he scrambled to sit up; curses were shouted, his long limbs got tangled in the covers, and his hair stood on end. If she hadn't been so completely fed up with his bullshit, Georgie would've killed herself laughing.

"What the fuck is your problem!"

She hit him again for good measure. "I can't take it anymore! All you've done is lay here and I'm sick of looking at the sweat pants and the defeatist facial hair. I _know_ it hurts, and I know doing anything outside of curling up into the fetal position seems exhausting and useless, but goddammit Will you're stronger than this! Eva won't answer the phone? Fine, go and see her in person and _demand_ an explanation about Abigail, because the longer you keep doing this shit, the longer it'll take to fix you and Lizzie."

The 'weapon' was tossed back into the pillow pile on the floor and all Darcy could do was stare at his little sister in bewilderment as she casually took a seat next to him.

"You are going to drive me to drink," Georgie said and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

He chuckled, leaning his head against hers. "What if she is mine? I mean, I don't care what the press does to me, but they'll eat Lizzie alive and she doesn't deserve that."

"Well," she began after taking a deep breath, "and I say this with every confidence – then you're fucked."

"Spoken like a true sage." Darcy smiled.

"I know."

"I'm terrified, Georgie."

Her arm tightened around him.

"I know."

"Are you going to vomit? Because you're kinda looking like you're going to vomit and all I ask is for fair warning before you do," Georgie said.

The street lights kicked on and a faint breeze sent the smell of barbeque wafting through the crack in the windows of the car where they sat conspicuously parked across the street from Eva's house. The journey here had been quite a harrowing one; most of Darcy's energy had been exerted in rolling off the couch, and its reserves depleted with the combination of arguing over Georgie's insistence on coming along ("Just incase you get the kind of news you don't want and decide to drive into the Pacific."), and the ditching of a rouge paparazzi that followed them for a good five miles.

On the drive he'd kept himself distracted by blasting black metal so dark it could've only been recorded inside the charred hull of a Norwegian church, but now that things were still and there was nothing to dispel the quiet except the odd bit of sarcasm coming from his sister's direction Darcy could concentrate on nothing else but the churning of his guts. Reclining the seat back, he puffed out his cheeks and shut his eyes tightly. The idea of being sick hadn't even entered his mind until Georgie's little ramble, but now as his insides knotted and twisted, he could think of nothing more.

With a deep sigh he gave her a sideways look. "I'll be sure to let you know," he said flatly.

"So…how much longer are you gonna sit here?"

"Until everything stops spinning," he grunted. "Or until my balls decide to quit hiding inside of me. Whichever comes first."

"Oh." Georgie nodded. "Christ, we're gonna be out here all night."

* * *

Since he'd walked in the door, Lizzie kept a close eye on Charlie. Sure her redheaded brother in arms appeared relatively normal on the outside – his thousand watt smile was in full effect, he blew raspberries on Owen's tummy until his lips were probably numb, and most importantly he still looked at Jane as though she were the most beautiful woman on the planet, yet something was off.

He didn't take up Lizzie's protest against emotional manipulation when Jane suggested they watch _The Notebook_. He fidgeted. He stopped talking in the middle of sentences or changed subjects completely, and even though the temperature in the apartment sat at a comfortable seventy-five degrees, Charlie had to toss his polo aside because it'd soaked through with sweat.

When Jane quietly wept over the movie, and Lizzie rolled her eyes hard enough that fainting became a real threat, Charlie suddenly leapt to his feet.

"I could use a drink!" he exclaimed. "How about you guys, huh? Janie, can I get you something?"

There was a loud, watery sniff in response.

"Lizzie?"

"No thanks, I'm cool," she said.

"Are you sure because you look like you could use one, too; I mean, you _really_ look like you're dying of thirst over there…"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not thirsty, Charlie. I promise."

"I don't know, Lizzie…" he started, "I'm getting stranded in the desert vibes from you – I'm sensing you're parched beyond belief and that you would very much like to _join_ me in getting a drink out of the _kitchen_." He gave an exaggerated yank of his head in the direction of the other room for emphasis and finally Lizzie humored him by leaving the comfort of her chair.

"Fine, you caught me. I've got total cottonmouth going on," Lizzie said, reluctantly following. Once they were safely behind the kitchen door she added, "Charlie, do _you_ have cottonmouth going on?"

"What?" he blinked.

"Are you high?" Lizzie asked in all seriousness.

"Wha—oh no, god no!" he laughed loudly. "No, I…" he trailed off while fishing around in the pockets of his jeans.

A gasp escaped her mouth at the sight of the ring now clutched between his fingers. "Oh, Charlie…"

"It's too soon isn't it? We haven't even been together for a year and she's probably going to think I'm crazy, it's just that I love your sister so much and I can't imagine spending my life without her and I'm totally rushing this right? I've had this thing for like two weeks already and it's like it's been whispering to me. I keep taking it out of the box, putting it back in, taking it out – I even tried it on my pinky finger." With his free hand he pulled at the ends of his hair. "I'm like Smeagol the stage-five clinger, aren't I?"

She threw her arms around him, laughing. "You're perfect! God, I'm so happy you're not high."

"So you think I should?" Charlie asked, beaming.

"Absolutely; Charlie, she's gonna love it."

"How do think I should do it? I mean, how did Darcy propose to you…?" he blurted, his eyes widening at the slight fall of her face. "Shit, Lizzie I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," she said waving off his apology. "Darcy was – it was great," Lizzie finished with a wistful smile. "He got down on one knee and all that; although he did puke beforehand."

"I'm sure we're gonna have that in common," he said with a self deprecating chuckle. "I feel like I'm gonna have a heart attack."

"Are you guys bottling the Coke's yourselves, what's taking you so long?" Jane burst through the kitchen door and stopped dead once she caught a glimpse of the ring in her startled boyfriend's hand.

And though all of the perfect proposal scenarios that had been running through his mind failed to include a sink cluttered with dirty dishes, Lizzie standing to the right of him in her pj's, and Jane slightly puffy-eyed from the combination Gosling, McAdams, and Alzheimer's, Charlie couldn't help feeling the moment would never be more perfect than this. So, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Janie, there's something I've wanted to ask you for a while now," he said with a sheepish grin. "I hadn't pictured this going down in the kitchen, but I really can't hold out any longer."

Her eyes darting from Charlie's handsome, earnest face, to Lizzie's clearly amused one, Jane brought a delicate hand to her chest and expressed her surprise like only a Bennet could.

"Oh Jesus shit."

Lizzie giggled at the uncharacteristic swear and watched as her big sister dissolved into a teary mess when Charlie dropped to his knee. "Jane Bennet, do you wanna marry me?"

Not another word passed between them; Jane pulling him to his feet and kissing him for all it was worth conveyed her answer quite nicely.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in? This could take a while."

"Maury knocks out this type of thing in ten minute segments; I'm sure I'll be fine." Georgie grinned at him. "Besides," she continued as she pulled her iPod out of her purse, "I've got an audiobook of _War and Peace_. I'm in it for the long haul if need be."

"_War and Peace_?" Darcy cocked an eyebrow. "So you're saying I'm going to come back to find you in a coma?"

"Nope, I'm saying quit stalling and get your ass out of the car."

With a quick hair ruffle of encouragement from Georgie, Darcy placed his hand on the door handle and cracked it open. One foot slowly made its way to the pavement, reluctantly followed by the other and when he was out of the car at last, she wasted no time in locking the doors.

Call seventy-six was placed while he drug his feet up the walkway (_your call has been forwarded to an automated message system for…_), a Blackberry was pocketed, a deep breath was taken, and a shaky finger lifted to ring the bell.

The sound of the deadbolt clicked in his ears and Darcy kept his eyes trained on the ever widening crack in the door. What he expected to be greeted with was perfection from head-to-toe; Eva Lane was not the sort of woman who dabbled in casual. During the course of their relationship she'd never been anything other than totally put together. She awoke in a pristine state – not a hair out of place, not a speck of drool or a bit of crust in the corner of her eyes, or a funny sleep-line to be found, and she continued looking the part of a walking airbrushed magazine cover throughout the day until her head was forced to hit the pillow once again (rinse and repeat). Chaos was not something to be hinted at, her private life echoed her tightly controlled public image, and as he stared at Eva's messy ponytail and her sweats, Darcy realized that in a full decade of knowing her and with four of those years spent dating her, that this was the first time he'd ever seen her human.

A faint smile crossed her makeup-free face. "Fitzwilliam."

He swallowed. "I hate to just drop in like this, but I did call ahead about seventy-times," he said.

"I've been expecting you. I figured it would've been sooner, actually, because I believe you've been sitting across the street for at least thirty minutes."

"Twenty," he quickly corrected.

"My bad," Eva said smiling crookedly and stepping aside to allow him to enter.

"Where is she?" Darcy asked.

Eva chuckled a bit, seemingly caught of guard by the abruptness of his question. "Wow, I thought we were going to do the awkward pleasantries thing first. I didn't even get around to asking if you wanted anything to drink. Do you? Because, I for one could _really _use a glass of wine…"

"No more games, Eva." Darcy shook his head. "I'm exhausted and I'm miserable and I just don't have a fucking sliver of the patience it takes to dance around with you, so if you could maybe conjure up some compassion right now I'd be eternally fucking grateful."

Her dark eyes cast downward for the briefest of moments. "Abby's upstairs; I just put her down for the night."

"Is she mine?"

"What do _you_ think?" Eva snapped as she brushed past him on her way to the kitchen.

Darcy was hot on her heels. "I don't know what to think!" he shouted. "I don't hear a word from you and all of a sudden you turn up and your five months pregnant!"

"Well, laying low seemed like the only option especially after reading about you and Lizzie in _People_!" she shot back. "Silly me for thinking our sleeping together was some sort of reconciliation."

"I'm not excusing my behavior! I'm sorry that I hurt you…"

She put her hand up to stop him. "It's okay, Fitzwilliam. It's just, you were one of the good one's and I screwed it up, and after the way Lizzie talked about you and seeing how you looked at her – even for a second, I was so incredibly jealous and I let Catherine insinuate that you're Abby's father and you're not…."

He stood slack jawed and feeling quite like his world had just stopped and exploded. "Could you repeat that?"

"You're not her father," she said, "and I never intended for any of this to happen. Catherine invited me over for Easter brunch; I had no idea she planned to use my pregnancy to make trouble for you and Lizzie. I thought you knew I was coming, until I gotta load of Richard's face. I know I should've spoken up, but like I said, I was a little jealous and well, you know sometimes I can be a real cunt."

Darcy laughed at that, raking a hand through is wild hair. "Yeah, I know." A beat, "So, is it Wickham, then?"

"_Seriously_?" Eva rolled her eyes. "God no, I learned my lesson as far as he's concerned." A blush settled on her cheeks. "His name's, Bill; he's Anne's assistant, actually."

He blinked. "Bill Collins?"

A nod.

"Henry Collins's brother?"

"We hit it off." She shrugged. "He's sweet and I could really use sweet again. He's actually out picking up dinner right now."

And Darcy found himself making another mental note of firsts when it came to Eva Lane; this was the only time he had ever seen her look truly smitten.

"I wanted to tell you sooner, Will but I couldn't make myself answer any of your calls; I was ashamed at my behavior on Easter and too scared to face you." She paused to pour herself a glass of wine. "I honestly thought Lizzie seemed very sweet. Maybe one day she'll be up for having lunch."

After months of agonizing, of beard growing and couch dwelling, the weight of Eva's words finally sunk in and Darcy was struck with the urge to not only dance around the room, but to cap it off with a scream of "Yes!" and a fist pump. However, he reined the impulse in and took up a seat at the kitchen bar instead.

He grinned like a dope. "I'll take that drink now."

* * *

_Author's Note: This was the chapter of a thousand revisions. I hate I had to make you guy's wait on it, but I'm much happier with this result than the crap pile I had before it (really, it was shit). I hope you liked it, too. _

_Just an epilogue left. :)_


	35. Love is not a Competition

_**Love is not a Competition (but I'm winning)**_

_**(an epilogue) **_

"Hello?"

The truth was he'd paced a good fifteen minutes before being able to raise a hand to knock on the apartment door. It wasn't cowardice so much as it was the importance of locking down all of the appropriate words onto the tip of his tongue, and Darcy carefully practiced his plea to Lizzie over and over; his shoes crunching over pavement grains as he moved back and forth, reciting and revising aloud (the beginning was good, the middle solid, but it got a bit shit near the end). He had one shot to get it right, make it count, and he approached it with all of the care, precision and fervor of a Grad student's fellowship proposal.

During the drive to Santa Monica there had been a nice slice of delusion. Having dropped Georgie back at home, Darcy's imagination had the dangerous combination of a quiet car and pounding optimism to propel it; he dreamed of that apartment door swinging open to reveal a slightly frazzled Lizzie (rumpled sweats, hair piled on top of her head, smirk on her face and makeup free – just as he liked her). Her eyes widened in surprise as she asked "What are you doing here?" and the threat of stilted conversation hung overhead, but they bypassed it completely.

This Darcy only had to say "I'm not the father; you may jump into my arms now" and it was all over. Tears were shed while Dream!Darcy spun her around, Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" played in the background, fireworks popped off, and a crowd of strangers appeared out of thin air to offer a round of applause and hearty congratulations.

Really, it was all very beautiful.

But, the reality of his situation put a stop to it all and Darcy was left with his fist lamely suspended in the air.

Abigail may not have been his, but she very well could have been. Once again, he'd gotten lucky in his fuck up and the fact that that little dream was fueled on a lucky break being the key to salvaging his relationship said that all of those months of misery – of insomnia and fucking sad beards had taught him nothing.

There was a huff. "See, I have this magical tool…let's name it 'caller id' just for shits and giggles. Now, what this id does, is when I get a phone call, it _identifies _the person on the other end of the line so what I'm saying is, you should stop with the creepy silence because I know it's you, Darcy."

Blushing, Darcy turned away from the front door. "Hi, sorry I didn't hear you pick up," he said raking a hand through his hair.

"Sure." The tone of Lizzie's voice was clipped and playing very clearly before Darcy's mind's eye was her dream counterpart telling him she loved him and never wished to be parted again.

"Play him Mastodon," he blurted.

"Okay…_what_?"

"Charlotte mentioned something about you having trouble getting Owen to sleep." He tried to sound casual, but the knot in his throat was making it damn near impossible. "Eat any good free samples lately?" he chuckled.

She told him, "I had this great multigrain cereal the other morning; I forgot the name of it, but I'll ask around the next time we're in Costco."

"So you're not going to try the Mastodon?"

There was a long pause and when Lizzie finally spoke, the annoyed edge in her voice had dulled. "Any album in particular?"

Darcy smiled, now leaning against the passenger door of his car. "He's partial to _Blood Mountain_. Like father, like son."

She hesitated slightly. "Thanks, I'll try it."

"You're welcome." He winced at the awkward sound of his voice. "Oh and uh…I saw Eva and Abigail today…"

"Well, my belated congratulations to you," Lizzie said flatly. "Wow, a baby boy and a girl in less than a year by two different women? What a stunning achievement in promiscuity."

Darcy bit back a laugh. "Hold on just a second and I'll send you a pic."

"Really, you don't have to. I'm sure she's all sorts of precious."

Lizzie was speaking through gritted teeth and he noted that right about now in his dream, she would've been wrapped around his waist kissing him for all it was worth while he artfully guided them through the apartment (towards the kitchen table where one manly sweep of his hand rid the surface of dishes). Instead Darcy was standing alone, perched against his car with nothing but Lizzie's thinning patience in his ear, struggling to find the right way to say what he painfully realized wouldn't be enough.

"She is achingly cute," Darcy said, "and just looking at her gave me the urge to run out and buy a shotgun to aid in ruining her future social life. It was a funny reaction to have since I can't reasonably take credit for Abby's cuteness."

She snickered. "I don't think you can take credit for Owen's either."

"Abby's not mine, Lizzie."

His nerve endings were burning with exhaustion from the sheer force of strength it took to get in his car and not walk back to that door; but, if he wanted the man that Lizzie came back to, to be the sort that didn't rely on breaking his falls with elaborate schemes and blind luck, then he was forced to endure the shaky hands and the hammering in his chest. Because, to be a better man he knew he was going to have to do the one thing he should have all of those months ago when he walked into his office to find his carpet being ruined by a miserable, soaking mess of a girl.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer," he sighed wistfully. "Goodnight, Elizabeth."

Darcy had to take a tumble and land flat on his face.

**Month Ten: **

"_You essentially had the entire world fooled_, _right_? _Why tell the truth and why now_?"

Oprah leaned forward, brows knit and one hand carefully propped under her chin. There was a quick cut away to a stern looking, yet fascinated audience member before the camera came back to focus on Darcy's lanky, suit clad form.

Richard quickly cast an over the shoulder glance at the TV. "You want me to turn it off?" He didn't wait for her to answer, already climbing to his feet with a bit of a groan. "I'll turn it off."

This was the second airing of Darcy's hour long appearance on _Oprah_ and just like his guest spots on _The Today Show_, _Larry King_, and _20/20_ he managed to be charming, and affable, and gorgeous to such a degree that the collective shrugging of the shoulders of the American public over the revelation the fairytale romance they'd been sold all this time had started out as a carefully crafted p.r. stunt, could actually be heard. However, knowing Fitzwilliam Darcy—_really_ knowing him, meant being able to spot the slight twitch in his jaw, or catching the subtle wiping of his palms on the knees of his trousers. It meant seeing the tremble of social anxiety behind every tug on the ends of his hair, and each time Lizzie caught a glimpse of the real man her stomach did this wonderful, little floppy thing.

It was just a little over a month ago that she'd woken up surrounded by her four sisters, a _People _magazine clutched in Jane's hands:

_I Lied: Fitzwilliam Darcy and the Shocking Truth about His Marriage_

They'd prodded her for answers, but honestly Lizzie was just as bowled over by it as they were. Not one celeb rag had called requesting a follow up interview from her, not one paparazzo had camped outside of her door – her life had carried on in the same cycle and all the while Darcy had been spilling his guts to the press.

"_We highlighted our favorite parts_," Jane told her with a grin as she handed over the mag.

"_Really Lizzie," _Lydia began, "_you could do a lot worse. In fact_, _you have_."

With that, they left her alone to pour over the contents of the article, and god did she ever; within an hour Lizzie had it practically memorized:

"_If my dad were alive_, _he'd sit me down and tell me that I've been a total coward lately_, _and there'd be a polite reminder that he hadn't raised a coward_._ I could've left this a secret_, _but in doing so I'd essentially be saying that I'm ashamed of my son and my wife and that couldn't be farther from the truth_. _My family means the world to me, and I owe it to them to be truthful_."

"_Yeah_, _I've thought about what'll happen when Owen's old enough to understand all of this_, _but I want him to know that even though Lizzie and I didn't start out in a conventional way_,_ what we became was the best thing and I wouldn't change a single detail of the way I got to fall in love with her_."

And when she wasn't busy reading that article for the twentieth, thirtieth, sixtieth time, Lizzie was glued to _E_! and _Access Hollywood_, and _Entertainment Tonight_ where she and Darcy were the featured story night after night. His every move was captured by paparazzi flashbulbs (Darcy driving, Darcy pumping gas, Darcy eating lunch, Darcy walking into work, Darcy jogging etc…etc…), when she ventured outside of the apartment his face stared back at her from the covers of tabloids, and when she flipped through the channels on her TV, finding some second-rate talkinghead using their relationship to highlight the ills of celebrity culture was inevitable.

It was strange to watch the three-ring circus Darcy had wanted to avoid all along unfold, and even stranger to watch him take it in stride. With every talk show appearance, and every private re-reading of that article, Lizzie felt her anger slowly fall away. His nervous smiles and hair pulling meant a blush upon her cheeks was imminent, and this new feeling was as gradual as to almost go unnoticed; though firm in its intensity, it was somehow less overwhelming than her transition from strong dislike to having a crush. She'd never been in love before, but she'd always held an expectation that, that sort of grand revelation came with a bang instead of a whisper, and realizing she loved Fitzwilliam Darcy with all of her being was such an "Oh, is that all?" moment she felt a little cheated.

Richard reclaimed his position on the floor, hovering over the half painted set background with another exaggerated old man groan. "Sorry about that," he said grabbing his brush, "from now on we'll keep it strictly on the classy talk shows, like Springer."

As the rec hall became filled with the sounds of "_Out of control Dwarves III_", Lizzie found it practically impossible to concentrate. Her mind was supposed to be singularly focused on making the sets for the Inglewood Community Center's production of _Sweeney Todd_ (and her directorial debut) look amazing, but all she could think about was Darcy.

Regarding her briefly with a smile Richard said, "You're gonna bail on me, aren't you?"

"It's that obvious?" she sheepishly laughed.

"Oh no, for a while I thought that glazed look in your eye was just your passion for volunteer childrens theater," he deadpanned.

"Don't look at it as me bailing," she said dusting off the knees of her jeans as she stood, "think of it as me wielding my directorial power."

Richard nodded. "I'll keep that in mind if and when I have to explain a fuck up to my mother." Chuckling he added, "Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'll take a cab, but thanks."

"No problem." He grinned. "Tell Darcy I said 'hey'."

**xx**

"Hello?"

There was no pacing, or careful rehearsing of lines to get it all right, instead Lizzie had a relatively pleasant conversation with a couple of paps that were camped out in front of Darcy's house in their SUV (one they promised wouldn't end up on TMZ later that night) and a couple of deep breaths before she hit the 'send' button on her cell phone.

"It occurred to me, just now that I never thanked you for the Mastodon tip," she told him as she leaned against the door. "My Costco peeps really miss me, by the way."

"You'll see them again," Darcy teased, "when the need for two hundred and fifty rolls of toilet paper or a drum of Chef Boyardee pops up."

You see, during the drive from Inglewood Lizzie was afforded a nice moment of clarity wherein all potential dramatic speeches were banned from her mind. These past months had been rife with the overly complicated and she didn't see the need in turning something so sweet and so simple into a production.

"It does feel weird, though," she said, "cutting back on the places where I can see your face. According to the _Star_ you've got five love children I don't know about."

He gasped feigning shock. "_Only_ five!"

"Listen, Darcy about that whole your face being on the cover of every magazine in existence thing…"

"Lizzie, I…"

"No, let me finish," she said softly. "What you did – coming clean like that, Darcy it was amazing. I also suspect you had a hand in paying the press to leave me alone, but neither Richard nor Charles will confirm or deny." A beat, "You didn't have to do it."

"No, I did; I should have from the start, but I was so afraid of what everyone else would think that I unconsciously treated you like you didn't measure up. I don't care that you're from Sun Valley, or that you waited tables, or that your mother is a big fan of pants with words across the ass…"

Lizzie laughed at that, raking a knuckle underneath her increasingly misty eyes.

"And I certainly don't give a damn that I met you in a bar. You've got to know that I did this for you – because I owed it to you – to us, really, and I'm so sorry about that contract, about Eva, and every stupid thing I've ever said. Lizzie, I…" Darcy trailed off with a self deprecating snort. "I'm sorry; I just wish I didn't have to say this over the phone."

Straightening herself back up, Lizzie took care to run a few quick fingers through her hair and smooth the wrinkles from her shirt. "Well then, maybe you should open the door."

There was a ten second lull in the conversation filled in by the sound of Owen's Playskool keyboard banging out _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ in the background before that door swung open to reveal a shocked Darcy with a cell phone still clutched in his hand.

"Hi."

"Hi." He took a step forward, but Lizzie put a hand out to stop him.

"Wait, there's one last thing I have to say in order to completely clear our slate." Off of his nod she continued, "I kissed Daniel Wickham, or rather he kissed me and I didn't do much to stop him. It was after we came back from New Hampshire and I don't think I got him pregnant, but I thought we should be prepared just in case he makes any claims."

A smile curling on his lips, Darcy slipped his arms around Lizzie's waist pulling her closer to him. "There are more Collins' running around LA, so I'll make sure to test them before I let Danny pin anything on you."

Darcy had been a total idiot about a lot of things (and so had she), but none of it mattered anymore; she loved him and she could forgive him.

His forehead came to rest against hers. "I love you."

"I love you back."

And after all they had been through, that was more than enough.

**Month Twenty:**

_5 Things I Would Rather Sit Through Than This Board Meeting_

_By Will Darcy_

_#1. A 24/hr nonstop listening party of HIM's "Love Metal"._

_#2. A deep and meaningful lecture by Gwyneth Paltrow on her nutrition habits (again). _

_#3. A high school production of CATS (make that __**any**__ production of CATS)._

_#4. Glitter. _

_#5. …_

"Darcy, do you have anything you'd like to add?"

He blanched.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had learned to reign in a number of questionable habits. While he still wasn't a completely open book, he no longer felt the need to drown any of his occasional sorrows in mixed drinks and bad trance music. Twice a month he met up with Sean Bennet to "hug and kiss; share and grow" over a light lunch, and the advice he gained from his father-in-law was infinitely more valuable than anything gleaned by sitting on a professional's couch (plus, it only set him back two meals and a pitcher).

A fight with Lizzie was inevitable. A night where Owen could only be appeased by sleeping in their bed was unavoidable. And sometimes he missed his parents so much, it made him ache, but it was okay.

His days of freaking out were long over.

Yet none of his newfound, zen-like patience could help him overcome his hatred for board meetings. Grimacing, Darcy grunted something that was supposed to have passed as a proper response, and the meeting was adjourned much to his relief.

"Aaron, hold all of my calls," he barked at his secretary as he rushed past heading for the oak, double doors of his office. There was an iPod in the top drawer with the soothing sounds of Slayer loaded on it calling to him.

"Mr. Darcy, wait!" Aaron called leaping from his chair, but it was too late. Darcy had already flung open those doors…

"I almost forgot to tell you, sir," Aaron began with a smile, "Mrs. Darcy is here to see you."

Lizzie waved at him from her position casually perched against his desk.

Darcy grinned. "What are you doing here?"

She kept quiet as she reached for the purse on the desk and pulled out a ziplock bag filled to the brim with OB test sticks. "Twenty-five boxes," Lizzie said giving the bag a jiggle.

Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy (a family name of course) had reclaimed his sense of propriety, forgotten any and all ridiculous funks, and succeeded in bringing pride back to the Darcy name.

And he would have never done it without the help of his wonderful, pregnant wife.

* * *

_Author's Note: So long and thanks for all the fish. :)_


End file.
